Complications
by Bastetian
Summary: When he thought it couldn't get any worse... someone arrives. "Dammit," he cursed, "that is so inconvenient." Sequel to Confessions. Schofield/OC Warning: Slash content
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! Huge thanks if you're reading this story because you read Confessions and decided not to give up on me yet! If you haven't read confessions, the prequel to this story, I suggest you do, not for any great literary prowess in it but because you're going to get a fairly large surprise if you read this one first…

A note on my OC. Yes, he is Australian and yes his name is Jack. No, he has absolutely no connection whatsoever to Jack West Jr. My Jack was well and truly alive and causing mischief in my head long before we had even heard of Jack West Jr. Besides, every third guy in Australia is called Jack and I decided that the name will stay as is. I thought about changing it to Jackson but I've already borrowed something from the TV show emmerdale – who also have a character named Jackson with similar inclinations – and I didn't want to be accused of copying them.

On that note, the calendar scene is appropriated from emmerdale, which I must say, has a wonderful thing going in the storyline of Aaron Livesy (though I can't vouch for the rest of the show as I don't watch the whole thing, just Aaron, worth checking out as he inspired my portrayal of the Scarecrow in a lot of ways). So, credit to the emmerdale writers for that little scene but it just seemed so much the sort of humorous thing soldiers would do, so I borrowed it but I stress, it's not mine.

Neither are any of the characters, except Jack and Skip. I just play with them… -evil smirk-

Finally, as Scarecrow and the Army of Thieves has been published, this story is probably mostly AU as it only follows canon until hell island, so any mistakes are mine and they are probably intentional. After all, Mr Reilly himself never lets reality get in the way of his stories so why should I? But I am going to try and make this story fit into the time period in between hell island and Thieves.

Apologies for the really long note (Again!) but if you stuck it out through all of confessions then you'll probably have been expecting them anyway.

Only one more thing before the story begins: so I don't get flamed, not that I'd mind that all that much, at this point I'd pretty much settle for any sort of review (hint- pretty please), anyway, rambling when I should be warning:

WARNING: This story contains SLASH, a male/male romantic pairing. If that offends you, that's fine, it's your right to hate it, just as it's my right to like it. If it's not your cup of tea, please don't read on and then blame me, you have been warned.

Chapter 1

Shane Schofield was somewhat more subdued nowadays. Much like in the early days following Libby Gant's gruesome death, he had retreated into himself. He was there alright, but he wasn't really. He attended training, yelled as any good commander will do and laughed with his team afterwards but there was something missing; the camaraderie, sense of belonging and close friendship associated with being a marine. He didn't seem to want to socialise with his friends anymore, preferring to sit in silence by himself.

They weren't sure if it was due to a lingering sense of shame surrounding his coming out fiasco, or if it was nerves about the upcoming arrival of his replacement but his marines were determined to get their Scarecrow back by employing another time honoured marine tradition; the giving and receiving of stick.

Because nothing reassures a guy him more than having his friends tease the crap out of him.

After all, most of their callsigns were well-meant but intended to mock their recipient, Robert "Always on the Rebound," Simmons being case in point.

First, There had been that incident with the calendar. It had been Astro's idea. Every other male in the unit had a pin-up calendar in his locker and it just didn't seem fair that the Scarecrow didn't. So, at great personal cost – the guy in the newsagent had looked at them very strangely when they bought it – they had found a copy of the New York Fireman calendar and stuck it on his locker.  
>Unfortunately, Astro had given himself away as the culprit by laughing riotously when Schofield found it the next morning.<br>The others had been pleased to see that he at least flicked through it with a small smile before throwing it at Astro's head.

Then there had been that time one Monday movie night midway through Top Gun, Mother had had the balls to ask Scarecrow if he preferred Maverick or Iceman.  
>He had looked at her quizzically but then, to their great surprise, he had actually answered the question and laughed with the rest of them.<br>They considered that progress.

But today, nothing it seemed would distract him. He was sitting, staring absentmindedly off into space, and they didn't really blame him for it. After three weeks of waiting, the people who ran the marine corp had finally decided on a replacement for Schofield. He would arrive today.

Schofield had read the guys file.

He was 29 years old and his name was Jack.

Australian born but with an American mother, therefore he was eligible to serve in the U.S. armed forces. Until recently, he had been with the Australian Special Forces but the marines had noticed him during an international weaponry technique and tactical exchange conference and offered him the position. It was unusual but then, so too were the circumstances. Other than that, Schofield knew nothing about the man.

What he might know about Schofield himself had also been plaguing his mind. Given the circumstances in which he was being replaced, Shane thought it unlikely that this new bloke would be as accepting as his team had been, and so the thought of having to work in such close proximity to him made Schofield slightly nervous.

"Hey handsome," Mother's voice called out to him, "You're gonna miss him if you don't get a move on."

Schofield looked up, startled out of his thoughts, to see the entire unit standing just outside the barracks door in their immaculate dress uniforms. He had given them the morning off training to get ready. Likewise, Schofield also wore his full dress uniform. He had contemplated wearing his medals again in an attempt to intimidate the new guy but had reconsidered, deciding that to be just a little bit petty. He had always advocated giving everybody a chance and it would be hypocritical of him to not do the same for this Jack fellow.

They made their way to the front of the compound and waited, baking in their formal uniforms.

They didn't have to wait long however, as a nondescript black car pulled up in front of them only a few minutes later and he stepped out. For Schofield, all the little details he'd stored in his mind from the file suddenly became reality, standing in front of him.

Captain Jack Matthew Taylor

Australian  
>Tanned skin and a friendly, easy smile.<p>

Eyes: Blue  
>At least as strikingly blue as Schofield's own.<p>

Hair: Brown  
>Light brown, falling almost into his eyes in messy waves.<p>

Height: 6 feet  
>Just a little bit taller than Schofield, so he was looking up at him.<p>

A small cough from Book II standing a couple of places down the line, made Schofield realise that Jack had offered his hand and he hadn't noticed it. He pushed aside the uncomfortable feeling that had settled in his stomach and shook the offered hand.

He could tell this Jack fellow had sniper training because he could feel the calluses of the hand clasped in his matched his own.

It was Jack who broke the slightly tense silence first.

"Hi," he said simply. Schofield was astounded to hear how many vowels his unusual accent could fit into one short word. His brain seemed to have momentarily stopped functioning and he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Hi," was all he eventually managed. Hoping to inject a cool calmness he didn't feel into his voice, he feared it came out more as cold aloofness.

Mother, thankfully, came to Schofields rescue as always. "Hoiya," she said, in imitation of Jack's broad accent. Practically pushing Schofield aside, she too grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. "Ignore him," she continued as she nodded in Scarecrow's direction, "he doesn't do social all that well even on a good day. Now, aren't you all supposed to say g'day mate?"

Schofield watched closely as Jack made his way down the line, greeting and being greeted in a warm, easy manner. Something inside of him roared unhappily at the sight. These were his marines, his friends and now, it seemed, just another thing he was going to lose.

"Come on," he barked, "you've had all morning off, no more lazing around, I expect double effort this afternoon to make up for it. I will see you all for hand to hand combat in ten minutes." As he walked away, he cursed inwardly. Something in his brain had just snapped and it was so unlike him. He was normally so collected and in control. Maybe that was the issue, he wasn't sure right now which one of them actually was in control so he'd jumped, perhaps a little over-enthusiastically, at the chance to emphasise his authority.

'A natural response, though perhaps one to be curbed," he berated himself. 'And,' a small voice in his head added, 'not something he'd ever felt the need or even desire to do before.'

His marines were left standing in stunned silence, save one.

"You," Mother said to Jack, "go put those bags away. You lot," addressing the others, "do as the man says and get your skinny little asses to the training rings."

"Well, go!" She said when they didn't respond immediately. She grabbed Jack's arm quickly as he turned to leave. "He's not normally like that," she tried to explain quickly before turning and jogging to catch up with Schofield's disappearing back. He was heading, she didn't fail to notice, in exactly the opposite direction to which he'd ordered his team. That, more than anything else, alerted her to the fact that something was not right with him.

He didn't seem to notice her approach, so she clocked him, hard, on the back of his head.

"Ow! What the hell do you think you're doing?" He exclaimed angrily, one hand on his head where she'd hit him.

"What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?" She responded, "What was that back there?"

"What?"

"You, being a jerk!"

He stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face her.  
>"Don't you talk to me like that. I'm your commanding officer in case you forgot."<p>

Mother recoiled. She looked stunned, hurt even. She stepped towards him just as he moved away from her. So she extended an arm and grabbed his shoulder tight, pulling him back.  
>"I beg your pardon," she said slowly, menacingly, drawing out each word. "I'm your friend and I ain't gonna take any o' that officer shit from you, buster."<p>

"You never talk like that," she said as she searched his face for any clue. For once, those silver sunglasses seriously frustrated her, preventing her from seeing his eyes and anything they might reveal. "What's going on here?" She asked gently but gave him a small shake all the same.

For a moment, the line of his jaw seemed to soften and Mother wondered if he would actually tell her but then he managed to wrench himself free of her grasp and brushed roughly passed her.  
>"Nothing," he said shortly.<p>

"Bullshit," she retaliated, "And you're going the wrong way." She called to his retreating figure.

Schofield knew that, just like he knew he had to get away for a few minutes to clear his head. He hoped Mother wouldn't follow him and was already regretting speaking harshly to her. He walked the long way around to the training rings where the others would be stretching and probably also anxiously waiting for him, but before appearing, he stopped short behind a cluster of out buildings.

Leaning back against a brick wall and staring up at the sky, he allowed himself to recall Jack's face. When he had arrived, it had all been so sudden but now, the details were getting sharper.  
>And the feeling had returned to his stomach.<p>

It had caught him by surprise before and it had been such a long time that he hadn't recognised it, but he could place it now.  
>It was attraction.<p>

Screwing up his face in frustration, he cursed to the sky.  
>"Dammit," he said quietly, "that's so inconvenient."<p>

A/N: So that's chapter one. Not sure how I feel about it, let me know what you think. I'd particularly be interested in finding out if people reckon he would choose Maverick or Iceman. I know who I reckon it would be but I deliberately left the question open ended. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Note the absence of ridiculously long note! Yay! Just wanted to say I'm much happier with this chapter than the previous one and it's dedicated to the two – yes two! – wonderful people who reviewed. Thanks for making my week, this one's for Dark Hunter 643 and Hufwe Makto.

Chapter 2

Schofield pushed himself off the wall and forced a smile onto his face as he rounded the corner. His unit - his friends - looked at him with slight apprehension. They never quite knew who they were going to get these days with Schofield.

"Okay," he called as he walked towards them, tone considerably brighter. "Pair up," he instructed.  
>"Mother with Bigfoot, Astro with Skip and Rebound with Pancho – please don't kill each other." The last bit was directed mostly at Rebound and Sanchez. Schofield would normally have kept the two separate but he needed to match them all based vaguely on ability, it wouldn't do to have any serious injuries in training. Besides, they needed to learn to work together somehow and he figured beating each other up was as good a start as any.<p>

"That leaves you with Book here," he said to Jack. He had put them together deliberately. Book II was a good martial artist, solid without being brilliant. He would be a good base from which Schofield could assess Jack's skills. He was also slightly interested in seeing if Jack would follow his orders. He did, without complaint.

Whilst the others practiced, Schofield, already a superb martial artist, moved amongst the pairs, making small corrections and encouragements. He found it comforting. The moves were co-ordinated, fluid but strong and graceful. Everything about martial arts exuded control and restrained power. Everything he felt lacking in his life right now.

He was showing Rebound how to place a kick so it just slipped under the ribs of the opponent and hit the vulnerable kidneys, causing excruciating pain, when he heard it.  
>Behind him there came a low groan which turned into a wail.<p>

He straightened up and spun around to see Astro lying on the ground, rolling in pain with both hands clutching a delicate area. He looked up at the sky and uttered a quick curse under his breath.  
>"Skip!" He tried to sound stern but found he couldn't quite supress a small laugh, "effective, but if you could just save that particular move for the battlefield. We're focusing on technique right now."<p>

"Just being unconventional, Sir," she retorted.

He rolled his eyes and helped Astro to his feet. "Now that's one reason not to mess around with women, far too dangerous," he said with a smile as he showed Astro how to block any similar attacks.

Eventually, having gone round every other pair twice, he could avoid Book and Jack no longer. He stood a short way off and watched them battle.

Book II's greatest ability was in his patience. They circled each other, Book refusing to engage. It never failed to frustrate his opponent, force him into attacking first and so, Jack swung a couple of crisp, sure punches aimed at Book's face but Book, prepared for the move, parried them easily.

"Nice," Schofield called, alerting them to his presence.

Book looked up briefly and Jack, spying his opportunity, took advantage of the momentary distraction and lunged again. This time, he dropped low and swept Book's legs out from underneath him with clinical precision, pinning him expertly.

"Very nice," Schofield conceded. Jack was obviously well trained and certainly capable.  
>"If you want a real challenge, you can take on Mother next," he said.<p>

Jack stood up and, smiling, brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Well, thanks," he replied, "But they say you're the best around here."

Book II, watching the exchange, laughed and clapped his hands on Schofield's shoulder. "I think that was a challenge," he said, "What do you say Scarecrow?"

He started to shake his head just as Book called out to the others, "Oi, who wants to see Scarecrow fight…" he trailed off. "Hey, what's your callsign?" He asked Jack quickly.

"Jackal," he replied, "You know, like the little wolf, play on my name and all."

"Who wants to see Scarecrow fight Jackal?"

Schofield tried to protest again but it was Jack himself that stopped him this time. He threw a gentle punch at Schofield, who threw up an arm and blocked it easily. "Not chicken are you?" He teased good naturedly, eyebrows raised. Schofield was acutely aware of the warmth of Jack's arm pressed against his own.

"Never," He cocked his head and replied with a smile.

"After you," he said, indicating to the large circles spray painted onto the packed dirt.

Jack stood just off the centre of one circle and Shane followed him, standing opposite. The idea was to keep the fight inside the circle. They assumed fighting stances, raising their fists protectively in front of their chests.

The others had all stopped to watch.

The two men started to circle each other slowly, crossing one foot in front of the other and never taking their eyes off each other. Scarecrow waited, baiting Jack to make the first move, waiting to see if he'd fall for the same trick again.

Eventually, he was forced to. He threw a strong punch this time intended to catch Schofield near the temple but Schofield's lightning fast reflexes allowed him to catch it and he swung his own punch under Jack's forced arm, clipping him on the chin.

They separated.

Jack lunged again, throwing another hard hit. This one too went high and Schofield was able to duck it. From his position near the ground, on his haunches, Schofield sprang up and launched a punishing kick, but he over extended his leg slightly, so the blow landed square on Jack's ribs instead of the intended kidneys. It wouldn't hurt him anywhere near as much but it was certainly still a glancing blow and it left Jack winded.

Jack was caught momentarily off guard as he tried to regain his breath and Schofield swept his legs out and pinned him as easily as Jack himself had dispatched Book II before.

He could have taken a moment to revel in his triumph but instead, Shane rolled quickly off him and let Jack up.

"Well fought," he said as he extended a hand to help Jack up.

"Bullshit," he responded cheerfully as he grabbed Schofield's hand, "you kicked my ass."

Schofield winced inwardly a little at the expression and the inevitable jeers that would come with it. Sure enough, from behind him, a chorus of catcalls started up.

Jack looked bemused and Shane, blushing slightly, said "Just ignore them."

Turning round to face the others, he said "You lot don't shut up you'll be running laps til next week, comprehend?"

Jack just quirked an eyebrow and smiled an easy, slightly lopsided grin.

Shane gave him one last quick look before grabbing a towel off the pile and heading over to Mother. Either she didn't hear him approach, or she was purposely ignoring him. He coughed a little to get her attention. She straightened up and turned to face him. She was still pissed at him. He could see it in her eyes.

_Not without reason_, he thought.

He held the towel out to her, a peace offering.  
>"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I'll make you dinner to make up for it."<p>

For a moment, her face remained impassive but then she took the towel from his outstretched arm and wiped the sweat from her brow. When her face appeared again, she was smiling at him. "Not sure my Ralphie will approve of me getting dinner with a ridiculously sexy young thing like you," she said.

Schofield's face fell a little. He and Ralph still hadn't really got over their little altercation. In fact, Schofield hadn't actually been over to Mother's place since, studiously avoiding any invitations.

"Oh stuff him," She said and then, seeing the look on his face, she added pointedly "He'll come round eventually; he's just stubborn is all. Much like someone else I know."

She balled the dirty towel up and threw it back at him. He caught it with effortless cool, a friendly sort of smirk lighting up his face. "Mine, ten minutes?" He said.

"It better be good buster," she responded with a smile as she broke into a jog to get home and freshen up.

When she arrived at the Barracks common room a short while later, she found they had the place to themselves. The others ate in the mess because they knew better to pass up a free meal seeing as the majority of them couldn't cook to save their lives. The state of the small kitchen when Schofield had moved in was testament to that. Somehow, he'd managed to clean it up to the point where it was usable, verging on civilised.

When Mother entered, for the first time ever, she smelt something delicious emanating from a pot on the stove, Schofield standing over it, stirring absentmindedly. He was no masterchef, but he'd been alone long enough to know how to look after himself.

"Hey," he said warmly when she arrived. "Won't be a minute, just got to set this to simmer."

She went over to the fridge and pulled out a couple of cans of soft drink. They had to work tomorrow so beer was off limits. The evening had settled beautifully warm, the sort of night that made one just want to be outside, so she grabbed the drinks and headed out to the porch out the back of the common room, seating herself on the ground, legs dangling over the edge, in the red glow of the setting sun.

Schofield joined her a moment later; he sat down beside her and rested his head against the cool bars of the cheap metal fence. She noticed that he'd changed out of uniform. Herself, she had just ducked into her place and grabbed a fresh T-shirt, leaving her camo pants on. Whereas Schofield had changed completely into an old pair of comfortable jeans and a loose grey T-shirt, the ever present sunglasses were just a casual pair of Oakleys. He looked more relaxed now. More Shane, less Scarecrow.

They just sat there for a while, Schofield quite content with silence but Mother, never so.  
>"What's for eating?" She asked after a minute.<p>

Schofield dragged his eyes away from the sun setting over the skyline of Washington D.C. to look at her. "Spaghetti," he said, leaning back on his arms.

"I am really sorry about what I said before," he added, "I was just pissed off and outta line."

She looked at him.  
>"Do you wanna talk about it?"<p>

He shook his head.  
>"Not really, no."<p>

But Mother could rarely help herself. "Is it about Jack?" She asked.

Shane tried to suppress the small smile that spread across his face at the mention of _his_ name but instead settled for hopefully disguising it as amused exasperation. "Mother…" he said warningly.

"No, come on, listen to me," she said over quickly the top of him, "I know he's nicking your job and all but it's not his fault and he really didn't seem like that bad a guy, I'm sure if you just get to know him you'll really like him."

"Mother…" he said again, "Not helping."

"Besides," he began to speak but then abruptly stopped and sniffed the air before jumping up. "Oh shit," he said as he ran back into the kitchen. The smell of burning spaghetti lingered strongly on the air.

Schofield emerged a few minutes later looking sheepish, hands behind his head.  
>"Anyone for pizza?" He asked.<p>

Mother just laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter is really short, apologies. I'm afraid I got to scarecrow in the shower dripping wet and naked and found that I couldn't really think coherently enough to continue…

Anyway, just thought I'd quickly point out that this story is M for a reason, not that there's any content that would particularly warrant that rating in this chapter, but down the road there could very well be, depends where I want to take it. Also, depends on what you want, let me know! As I tried to point out in this chapter, Schofield is a bloke and they say they've only got one thing on their minds. Though I'd hope he'd be a little more refined than that, but still, definitely a bloke.

Chapter three

The remainder of the unit tumbled into the room a little over an hour later to find Mother and Shane casually sprawled out on the sofas, chatting quietly, two pizza boxes on the low table beside them.

"Hey," Rebound protested, "You can't have a pizza party and not invite everyone else!"

"Be my guest," Schofield replied, waving his hand at the boxes, one of which was still half full.

"Somebody couldn't eat all his," Mother said teasingly.

"Somebody ate an entire large pizza with every topping she could think of and it put me off," Schofield retorted with a relaxed smile, "I mean, pineapple _and _sardines. You're disgusting."

"And you're too skinny," Mother quipped back.

Schofield arched one brow disdainfully at her. It was a skill that never failed to irritate Mother, who couldn't quite accomplish it. So naturally, Shane used it all the time.

Rebound looked torn for a moment but then shook his head.  
>"I just couldn't," he said regretfully, "I ate too much at dinner."<p>

Astro on the other hand had already dropped onto the couch and grabbed a slice.  
>"What?" He said as all eyes turned to him.<p>

"You ate all your own dinner and half of mine and you're still gonna eat that?" Book II asked incredulously.

Astro just looked at Book as though he was an idiot. Surely the question was a no brainer.

"Leave the kid alone," Sanchez said with a smirk they'd finally learn actually conveyed his amusement, "He's probably still growing.

Meanwhile, Astro had already eaten half his piece in one mouthful.

As someone grabbed the TV remote, Schofield and Mother sat up, allowing everyone else to settle down with them and watch whatever inane programme on that night. Schofield noticed someone who'd been hanging around the edges, clearly unsure of how to fit in with the close group dynamic. He would have groaned aloud if he desperately didn't want to attract anyone's attention to the struggle going on in his head.

_What the hell is Jack doing here?_ He thought to himself. After all, he was an officer and officers didn't usually end up in the barracks unless they'd got themselves in trouble, like Schofield had.

The television had decided to play up and was stuck on a flickering version of Discovery channel, must to the annoyance of the majority of the group. To make matters worse, they were playing old reruns of Mythbusters, as opposed to something vaguely cool like top gear. A small part of Schofield however - the side that actually knew that the Enhydrina schistosa was a sea snake, the side that he would probably never admit to - actually quite liked the show. On one hand, an evening of explosions and Jack's presence sounded quite pleasant. On the other hand, it also sounded like hell on earth.

"Well, I think I'll return to my husband and perfectly functional TV," Mother said loudly as she stood up and stretched. She tapped Schofield on the knee as she passed him. "Behave," she said pointedly but quietly.

Schofield decided to heed the warning and so he grabbed the dirty plates and empty boxes and headed towards the kitchen. Jack, however, stopped him.

"Do you need a hand with those?" He asked.

Shane froze.  
>"Um, no, thanks," he said slightly awkwardly. "Don't think Mother used hers anyway."<p>

He managed a small smile as he walked around him and over to the sink. After all, half the reason he'd stood up was so Jack could sit down with the others. They needed to get used to him and he needed to find his place in the unit if he was going to be their commanding officer once Schofield was gone.

All the same, he might have dropped the dishes in the sink a little harder than he intended.

"Sorry, slipped," he said as they all turned to see what had caused the clatter. Jack, he noticed, was still standing.

Schofield washed up and slipped out of the room as fast as he could.

He rushed up the stairs, thankful that as an officer, even a disgraced one, he had still been given a private bedroom with a small ensuite. He intended on having a very long shower because he needed to clear his mind. He figured that going to bed with a head full of Jack was probably not a good idea. It only occurred to him once he was in the shower, that thinking of Jack whilst dripping wet and naked was probably not a very good idea either.

"Fuck," he moaned aloud, leaning his head against the slick tiles and letting the water cascade down his back. Mindless physical attraction he could handle. He was, after all, a male surrounded almost constantly by other marines – marines who were practically the definition of physical perfection – and they'd showered together and changed together before. So it wasn't as though he'd never been attracted to a co-worker before. He'd just become a master of control. Mindless physical attraction he could handle, yes, but something about this Jack bloke was really getting under his skin and if there were actual feelings involved, well that certainly complicated things.

"Fuck," he repeated, banging his head lightly against the tiles. "Pull yourself together, Scarecrow."

With that, he reached out and cut the water off abruptly, stepping out into the sudden cold of the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **The most difficult part of writing a slash story is keeping track of the pronouns! Mind you, given that most of the characters in this story are male anyway, that was already kind of an issue. You might have to pay quite close attention to work out which "he" is being referred to at which point. But just to confuse you further, there are moments where it is intentionally ambiguous which "he" is thinking what. You can choose which one you reckon it might be.

And I really love the image of Schofield in his pyjamas and sunglasses. I think it epitomises the character I'm trying to create – the hero as a real person.

Finally, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed. And Soda – I couldn't reply personally to you but you should most definitely read Scarecrow and the Army of Thieves. I finished it for the third time yesterday…

I'd particularly love feedback on the sexual tension in this chapter. I've never written anything like that before.

Chapter 4

It took a week. The first morning when he'd stumbled down the stairs to find Jack sitting – alone – at the small kitchen island that doubled as a table, he'd contemplated going back to bed. At first it had been awkward but they had since developed a comfortable but unspoken ritual. Schofield would appear, usually still in whatever he'd slept in, to find Jack already sitting there with a bowl of cereal. Jack would pass Shane the box. They'd nod at each other which somehow conveyed both "good morning, how are you?" and "thank you – you're welcome." Then eat their breakfast in what seemed like companionable silence before retreating for a shower and a shave to be ready for the day.

This day, however, Jack had obviously decided he was going to upset that ritual. When Shane appeared, clad in pyjamas and sunglasses, he found Jack leaning up against the counter clutching a steaming cup of coffee, whilst an already filled cereal bowl was set out waiting for him.

Jack looked up to see a startled Shane enter the room.  
>"Morning," he said simply. Then, nodding his head at the laid out breakfast, he added "I noticed you don't have milk with that."<p>

"Yeah," Shane replied, forcing his brain to function, "been allergic to it since I was a little kid."

"Thanks," he said slightly cautiously, as he sat down to eat.

"No problem." They eyed each other carefully,

Despite the unusual beginning, Schofield hoped that perhaps Jack would just let him return to his normal quiet breakfast in peace.

He was wrong.

"Why don't you eat in the mess?" He asked quietly, breaking into Schofield's thoughts.

The hands holding the coffee cup had caught Shane's attention and he had been trying desperately not to recall the way those hands had ghosted over his skin in his dreams.

"Why don't you?" He replied.

If Jack was put off by Schofield's evasive answer, he didn't show it. Instead, he just laughed.  
>"I've eaten road kill that tasted better than the food they serve in there."<p>

Schofield laughed too. Although he'd spent a fair amount of time avoiding Jack's presence over the past week, he was finding out that he was in fact funny and easy to be around, traits which were fast making him friends with the rest of the unit.

Relaxed by the comforting attempt at friendliness, Shane found the answer to the original question slipping out of his mouth. "I don't like the way they look at me in there," he said truthfully.

Jack looked confused as he sat down opposite Schofield. "Whataya mean?" He asked.

"Don't act like you don't know," Schofield retorted defensively, the anger in his tone rising slightly. He could handle outright dislike, but subtle teasing really irritated him.

"Hey," Jack replied with his hands raised in the air in mock surrender, "I'm just a simple country boy from beyond the back of Woop Woop. There's a lot of things I don't know."

It was Shane's turn to be confused then but a quick glance up at Jack confirmed that the other man was telling the truth, he really didn't know the full picture. That made him very reluctant to continue speaking. This was hardly the way he pictured Jack finding out about why he was here.

"Okay," Schofield said slowly after a moment. They sat in silence for a moment as Shane thought about how to put this, whilst Jack waited patiently for the answer.

When he spoke up, it was thoughtful, every word weighed. "I said something I shouldn't have, then I did something stupid and then I got thrown out. End of story."

The playful look on Jack's face vanished rapidly. "I'm sorry," he said, "they didn't tell me that. They just told me they had a marine who was leaving that they needed to replace quickly and would I like a job. I was pretty keen to get out of my miserable little town so I jumped at the opportunity."

The silence resumed.

But then Jack broke it again.

"Why are you living in the barracks then?"

"You been waiting all week to question me or something?" Schofield retorted with a bite of humour in his tone.

"Maybe," Jack replied with a cheeky smile. "Just answer the question."

"I dunno," Schofield said, "the corp probably just wanted to keep an eye on me until they could be rid of me." There was a dark sort of humour in his voice and Jack found he wanted nothing more than to be able to see his eyes, too see whatever it was he was trying to hide behind the reflective silver lenses. Perhaps Shane sensed the others gaze because he looked up sharply at Jack and flicked the question back at him.  
>"You?"<p>

"I've been in this country all of about two weeks, so I didn't really have anyplace else to go. The corp said I could stay here til I find a place of my own," Jack replied. He was pleased that he'd managed to get the elusive Scarecrow to actually talk to him and he figured he might as well push his luck with one more.

"What's with the sunglasses?"

"A story for another time," Schofield said as he stood up with his empty breakfast bowl and made to wash it up.

As Schofield was about to find out, Jack was an insatiably curious being and the evasive answer, combined with the general enigmatic aura Scarecrow and his silver glasses seemed to exude, did nothing to dissuade him. From behind Shane, Jack piped up once again.  
>"Can I ask one more then?"<p>

Schofield, elbow deep in soapy water was tempted to fling some suds at him but decided that would be altogether too immature and flirtatious. Instead, he settled for teasingly conceding with evident exasperation but the hint of a smile, "I think technically you already did, but you may ask one more."

"So you don't really want to leave then?"

"No, not really," Schofield replied shortly, drying his hands and turning to face Jack with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"From what I've heard about you, you don't give up without a fight. So why aren't you fighting now?"

The atmosphere in the room instantly turned serious. If Jack could have seen Shane's eyes, he was sure he would have seen a pair of shutters pop up inside them but then again, the glasses did that pretty effectively as well.

"And that's another question. Excuse me." Schofield answered brusquely as he pushed past Jack and left the room to go and dress.

Left alone in the kitchenette, Jack was satisfied for the time being. It was a start at least. He couldn't help but wonder if the Scarecrow was anywhere near as curious about him as he was about the Scarecrow.

Closing the door carefully behind him, Schofield took his time to dress even though he was wearing the same thing he wore virtually every day – loose khaki camouflage pants and an olive green T-shirt – regulation marine utility uniform. He waited until he heard the clatter of the other marines returning from breakfast before he went back downstairs. Although the morning had been both enjoyable and only slightly unnerving, he thought it perhaps unwise to subjugate himself to too much of Jack's presence alone.

He had planned a fairly epic – if he did say so himself – training exercise for the day and he didn't want to be distracted.

Running lightly down the stairs, he found the majority of the unit hanging around in the common room. He beckoned silently for them to follow. Out in the courtyard they were joined by Book II and Mother, who had been lazily enjoying the early morning sunshine. Neither of them knew what Schofield had organised either.

Like a band of merry men, they followed their amused leader to one of the furthest and most elaborate mock battlefields. Complete with trenches and raised platforms, nets and bushes, tunnels and concealed sniper slits behind half walls, it was a veritable maze. At complete odds with the wild terrain was a neatly laid out table with five of the latest M7 submachine guns, compact but powerful. Beside them lay a pile of small coloured boxes.

Schofield grabbed a few at a time and threw them to his excited looking colleagues.  
>"Somebody asked me if my team would like to put these through their paces," he said, tilting his head towards the guns.<p>

He smiled a wicked smile at them, enthusiasm getting the better of him as well. "What you're holding in your hands is simulated ammunition. Don't even think about trying to pretend you aren't hit because believe me, this stuff will make it pretty clear. It packs one hell of a punch but it should wash out and leave nothing but some impressive bruises. Obviously, there aren't enough guns to go around so we'll have to take turns. Let's make this interesting; Ladies vs Gentlemen – if we can find any present."

"Mother, Skip – suit up against Astro and Pancho," he called as he tossed them each a gun.

Rebound was practically jumping up and down, clearly itching to get a hand on one of those weapons. So naturally Sanchez couldn't resist running his hands up and down the barrel in admiration and saying with ample snark, "Careful kid, don't wet yourself."

Schofield quickly intervened in the developing situation by saying loudly, "Remember, this is an exercise in tactics. I want to see you out-think your opponent. So," he looked pointedly at Skip, "I don't want to see any shots to the balls and no wasted ammunition, kill with your first shot or you'll wind up dead yourself."

Whilst the two teams made themselves scarce in the maze, Schofield and the remainder of the unit made their way up to the viewing platform. When none of the four could be seen, Schofield flicked a switch and a large green light flashed above their heads, signalling that they could engage.

He saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye as Skip ran at a half crouch, staring through her sights, pressing her body against the walls to try and conceal herself. Meanwhile, a larger shadowy figure rested on her haunches in one of the nearby tunnels.

From up on the platform, Schofield smiled. He could read the plan fairly easily. Skip was acting as bait, hoping to draw the boys out and when they did, Mother would catch them in the crosshairs. He hoped Skip had excellent reflexes because it was a plan that – if it had been real – would have put her life at considerable risk. It might not have been stylish but, he couldn't deny, it had balls.

And it was working.

Across the other side of the field, two figures could be seen advancing through the maze at either extremity. They were making for a pair of tunnels that would give them enough cover to sneak up behind Skip in a perfect pincer movement.

At least, it would have been perfect had it not been exactly what she wanted them to do.

All of a sudden it seemed, the mock battle was over. Half a dozen shots had blared out at the same time and Skip took the brunt of it. Two to the chest, one halfway up her thigh and another between her shoulder blades. She doubled over, wincing. The shots to her chest had left her winded. Had it been a real situation, she would have been a bloody macabre mess by now.

But her assailants would have equally as dead, silenced by two precise headshots from Mother. They stood there now, a sorry picture with bright blue paint dripping off their face masks, wondering how their perfect plan had been foiled.

Mother meanwhile, had emerged from her tunnel with her gun held aloft.  
>"Fucking A," She yelled gleefully, "It's like paintballs awesome big brother!"<p>

Schofield leaned casually over the railing and called down at her, "Nicely done but if you could avoid killing your entire team next time, that would be better."

At the base of the ladder leading up to the viewing platform, even though she was ten feet below them, she still cut a mean figure. Followed by Skip whose uniform was now multi-coloured, she began to climb. "Fine buster," She called back at him as her head popped up through the hole, still gripping the gun, "How's about you show us how it's done then?"

"Fine," he said with mischievous defiance. He plucked the gun from her hands but then extended it out, butt first, towards Jack. "Let's see what you've got."

With a wide smile of his own, Jack accepted the gun.  
>"You're on," he said, "I believe payback is long overdue."<p>

As Skip emerged onto the platform to the general laughter of all at her new look, Shane slid his sunglasses off and tossed them casually onto the table holding the guns.

He looked up when he felt the heat of someone else's gaze on his neck. He looked up and straight into the eyes of Jack, who he realised, was seeing _his_ eyes for the first time.

The gaze was intense, shocked even, and Shane found it uncomfortable to hold. There was a reason he always wore those damn glasses because they prevented exactly this issue. His eyes flickered downwards, fixing themselves instead on Jacks lips which were slightly parted in surprise.

He wondered briefly what those lips would feel like – would they be as soft as Libby's? How the inside of that mouth would taste, if that tongue would battle his.  
>He wrenched his eyes back up to meet Jack's gaze again. It was decidedly less dangerous.<p>

He felt a faint heat creep into his cheeks and he hoped like hell it wasn't showing. Quickly, he grabbed one of the protective face masks on, covering his eyes again.

He stood his ground beside the table, hoping that it came off as defiant bravado when in reality, he felt rooted to the spot. He knew Jack would have to reach across him to grab a mask but when he did – god, they were so close he could practically feel the warmth of his body – and he knew it was a bad idea.

Grabbing a gun and pushing past Jack, he swung himself down the hall and slid quickly down the ladder. His boots his the ground hard as he took off into the maze.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **A lot of my stories are inspired by music, so if you would like to listen to the sort of soundtrack to this story, it would probably consist of:

Iris by the goo goo dolls - incredibly beautiful song, one of my all-time favourites

Halo by Beyoncé – not that I'm suggesting that style of music is what goes with Matthew Reilly in general but I think the lyrics are pretty spot on for this story. In particular, if you wanted to listen to this song with the right sort of visuals, search it on youtube with "chrolli" which should bring up a couple of videos with this song about a gay couple (Christian + Oliver hence chrolli) from a German TV show called Vertoben Liebre. Ironically enough, they even look a bit like I imagine Schofield and Jack might look.

Hey Soul Sister – Train … or the glee version, both are pretty awesome

Oh and just one more thing, you might have noticed that I alternate between referring to the character of the Scarecrow by either his first name, his last name or his call sign. There's a reason for that but I'll leave you to work it out. I'm sure you're all more than clever enough you probably don't need me pointing it out to you but I thought I would just in case.

Here's a nice long chapter. One I reckon is pretty cute.

Chapter 5

Schofield's head pounded in time with the rhythm of his feet. From on the ground, the maze was disorientating. Mounds and half walls obscured his vision and distorted the shapes around him and somewhere in amongst it all was Jack, searching for him. He was sure he could hear him, feel him, all around. The release of a safety, a footfall, a breath.

He ducked into a tunnel, momentarily stopping to gather himself.

_Never stop, if you stop you're dead._

He needed a plan. Only, he had no idea how Jack worked, and so, no clue as to how to work him out.

Never mind that he was already on the back foot because he was running, without any plan or clear thought, away from his target.

He stepped cautiously out of the tunnel, gun raised, and dashed over to a large mound with a sniper hole on it. Climbing it in two long strides, he pressed his body against the muddy ground, he stared down the sights of his gun, they weren't binoculars but he was improvising. He swept the vast terrain searching for any hint of movement, a flash of a green T-shirt, but he saw nothing.

But then he heard it, from behind him – the unmistakable heavy tread of a combat boot, not in his imagination this time.

Abruptly, a shot rang out and he felt it brush past his ear sharply. Using his superb reflexes, he had already flung himself over the low wall that was giving his some shelter, albeit from the wrong direction, and rolled down the small hill. Not stopping, he leapt to his feet, determined to put as much distance between him and Jack as possible. At least until he worked out how he was going to backtrack and catch him.

Jack had him well and truly on the run now.

The terrain certainly didn't help Schofield. Behind him lay a track of footprints in the dirt for Jack to follow.

He kept running, with his gun lowered at his side so he could move faster. Walls and Tunnels and trenches passed by him in a blur. He threw out a hand to grab one of the artificial walls as he went passed, using his momentum to swing himself over, hoping the abrupt change in direction would put his assailant off.

It didn't.

He heard another round smash into the wall he had just cleared. He ducked down into one of the trenches, hoping it would afford him some cover, and into a tunnel.

Finally, he had a plan.

As he reached the end of the tunnel, he grabbed the edge and hoisted himself up onto the roof, his body pressed flat against concrete surface, legs splayed so he didn't slip off the rounded roof.  
>He steadied the gun and pressed his eye to it, waiting for Jack to come round the corner unawares.<p>

He thought he heard a noise nearby and he tensed his finger on the trigger, ready to fire, when something hard impacted against his face mask, jolting his head violently and filling his vision with red.

_Dammit_, he thought. A perfect headshot right to his temple and he was well and truly dead.

Wiping his facemask and looking behind him at the platform where all his marines were watching, he said into his throat mike "Scarecrow, down."

Over the intercom, he was sure he could hear them whooping.

Shaking his head slightly to himself, he brought his head to rest briefly against the concrete curve of the tunnel before abruptly pushing himself up and off with casual grace.

Jack was already walking over to him with his mask pushed up. His bright blue eyes were sparkling and his messy hair was plastered to his forehead. He smiled a million watt smile and Shane couldn't help but smile back, concealed as it was behind the mask.

"Jesus, Taylor," Schofield said. "What'd they teach you down under?"

If possible, Jack smiled even broader.  
>"Well, I did spend all my childhood a'roo-shooting," he said, his accent thick.<p>

Schofield's surprise concealed by the mask, Jack wouldn't have known at all had he not stopped suddenly.

Jack spun around to look at him, his head cocked to the side in question.  
>"Kidding," he said with a genial laugh. "You gonna keep that stupid thing on or what?"<p>

"It's a fashion thing, can't you tell?" Shane teased back.

"Not where I come from," Jack retorted. Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and wiped the rest of the paint of Schofield's mask with his arm.

They both stopped.

From behind the mask, Shane could see Jack's eyes search his own face, maybe a second of silence passed between them.

"At least you can see now," Jack said softly.

Unable to see Schofield's eyes, his own darted over his mask, his body, his own feet and back.

Shane turned and walked away, leaving Jack standing there, face furrowed with confusion.

Schofield jogged over to the viewing platform and quickly ascended the ladder. As he came up through the hole he was greeted with the enthusiastic cheers of his team.

"- Like cat and mouse – and you're the mouse,"  
>"He totally killed you!"<br>"Head shot first fucking time -"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah" he called back, rubbing his neck, as he pulled the mask off and tossed in onto the table. He retrieved his sunglasses and slid them back on, covering his eyes once again.

"Book and Rebound, versus Bigfoot and Mother – you're next, try not to kill your own team," he ordered.

Grabbing the gun he had used, he settled himself on the railing off to the side to clean it. His eyes followed Jack as he climbed up onto the platform as well a minute later, but when Jack turned to look back, he dropped his gaze sharply, returning to methodically ridding if of all the red paint.

They kept going until everyone's uniforms were a veritable – colourful – mess, and all the ammunition had been used up. Schofield dismissed the others, taking it upon himself to do the final clean-up of the weapons and return them. Jack had tried to catch his eye as he'd left but he'd stubbornly ignored him, so he gave up and followed the others back to base.

Shane had thought he was alone on the viewing platform until a pair of large heavy hands fell onto his shoulders. He jumped a little from surprise and turned around to thump Mother on the shoulder as she laughed at him.

Book II was also there, leaning casually up against the railing and smirking at them.

Mother grabbed one of the guns and tossed it to Book before picking one up herself and starting to clean it.

"What exactly are you two doing?" Shane asked them, bemused.

"Helping you clean these up, otherwise you're gonna be late," Mother said with a wicked grin.

"Late for what?" He replied slowly.

"Oh, nothing," She said shortly, the grin becoming more pronounced.

"Late for what?" He repeated, addressing the question to Book this time, who turned out to be just as unhelpful. His only reply was a shrug of his shoulders.

He glared at them as they continued to clean the guns.

Mother looked up at him and laughed again at the concerned expression on his face.  
>"Don't you worry," she said, "it's just a little surprise is all. Why don't you run on back to the barracks and put on some civvies – nice one's mind you - and meet us outside the front gate in about half an hour."<p>

Between them, Mother and Book managed to grab all the now pristine guns. Shane watched as Book and then Mother started to cautiously climb back down the ladder, complicated as it was by the falling darkness and armfuls of guns.

Just as Mother's head was about to disappear, Shane called to her "And if I don't want to?"

"Well then, I'll look forward to coming down to the barracks to drag you kicking and screaming if necessary." Her tone was bright as always but something glinted in her eyes that told him she meant every word.

He raised a single eyebrow and rolled his eyes – the very picture of elegant disdain - before saying, "Fine."

Half an hour later, as ordered, he stood outside the front gates of the barracks in a pair of dark jeans, a black T-shirt and an old, faded bomber Jacket – one he'd had since flight school - and of course, a pair of silver Oakleys.

A few minutes later, Mother and Book pulled up in front of him in Mother's beat up 4WD. Obviously, wherever he was being taken was far enough away to warrant driving there.

Winding down a window, Book II's smiling face appeared. "Come on," he said, "get in."

Reluctantly, Schofield got in the back. As they drove off again, he said with an amused smile, "This is absurd."

Book II turned around to look at him as best he could whilst they were in motion.  
>"It could've been worse, I was all up for blindfolding you."<p>

"Right," he replied, looking out the window. They appeared to be headed into town. "Remind me why we're doing this again?"

"Because," Mother said, hitting the steering wheel to emphasise her point, "You needed cheering up so we're going out!"

"And what exactly do I need cheering up for?"

"Dunno," she replied, "Hoping you would tell us that."

He lapsed back into silence and a couple of minutes later, Mother pulled into a dingy looking parking lot. A few minutes more after that, the three of them were standing in front of an equally dingy looking bar.

Shane looked at the building and his mouth fell open.  
>"Oh Mother," he said, "please tell me you didn't…"<p>

Looking directly at her, he almost pleaded, "tell me we're not going in there?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," was her reply.

He tried Book next.  
>"I can't believe you let her talk you into this."<p>

He just shrugged again.

Mother walked right up to the door and held it open.  
>"Scarecrow," she said, "get in the fucking bar."<p>

Something in her tone told him that he wasn't going to win this fight, so he took a deep breath and entered.

It was actually much nicer from the inside, and it looked just like any of the hundreds of other bars Schofield had been in over the course of his life.

"Well," Book said as he walked in and looked around, "this isn't so bad."

Mother stepped up to join them. "You boys go and grab table and I'll get us some drinks."  
>Mind you, uh, behave," she added with a wink before disappearing over to the bar.<p>

They pushed their way through the throng of people dancing, drinking, couples kissing.  
>Shane tried to take it all in. They were so at ease and somehow, it made him feel on edge.<p>

Eventually, they managed to find a quiet, empty table near the corner. Shane took the chair closest to the wall, facing the dance floor and bar, so he could watch.

They both looked around nervously until Mother came back, clutching three beers and manoeuvring through the crowd by sheer force of her size.

"Don't you two look cute," she said as she set the beers down on the table. Book and Schofield scowled a little at her but still gladly relieved her of two of the beers.

Schofield lifted his to his lips and took a long drink. Setting it back down again, he looked Mother in the eye and said seriously, "I still think this is a bad idea."

She laughed into her drink and slapped him on the back.  
>"Live a little, Scarecrow," she said teasingly.<p>

He continued to fix her with his dark blue stare until she put her drink down and looked at him. He crossed his arms and leaned forward, speaking quietly although nobody would overhear them anyway. "Mother," he said slowly, enunciating each word like he was speaking to a particularly stubborn small child, "we're in a gay bar. Unfortunately, I know all too well that soldiers can get in a lot of trouble for doing an awful lot less than this."

She too leant forward so their noses were almost touching and said, equally serious, "Scarecrow, I've got a husband, he's got a girlfriend and you're already thrown out. So, I repeat: Live a little!"

Leaning back in her chair, she grinned triumphantly, knowing she'd won. She drained her glass and pushed it over towards him.  
>"Your round," she said.<br>He smiled and shook his head a little at her before lifting his own glass and draining it also. Standing up, he tapped Book II on the shoulder, who looked at him confused. "More people that go to the bar, more drinks we can bring back with us," he explained over the noise.

They pushed their way back through the throng, now regretting choosing a table that far away from the bar. Eventually they managed to make their way across, with people all around them, shoving and stepping on their toes. But when they approached the bar, and Schofield tried to get the bartenders attention, he realised that Book wasn't beside him.

The crowd must have separated them somehow and Book had been pushed to the edges, where he was now virtually pinned against a wall with a gentleman in his mid-forties and wearing leather pants. Shane could tell from the vaguely horrified look on his friend's face that he was being hit on.  
>He could have gone and rescued him immediately but it was far too funny to watch him struggle.<p>

Eventually, he managed to slide through the crowd at the bar over to them and, slipping an arm around Book II's neck, he said as seriously as he could manage whilst trying desperately not to laugh, "Sorry love, he's taken."

The other man eyed Schofield up and down before slinking off but Shane left his arm exactly where it was around Book's neck because he was now laughing so hard it was all that was holding him up. In return, Book thumped him hard around the shoulders.

"Come on," Schofield said when he'd recovered enough to speak. "We've should get back in line."

When they finally returned to the table, clutching as many beers as they could hold, Mother demanded immediately to know what in blazes had taken them so long. They just looked at each other and immediately packed up laughing again.

"You could have said something else, and quicker too would have been nice," Book II grumbled when they had regained enough sensibility to sit back down without falling off. "Now people are gonna think that we're -" he paused, looked around to make sure no one could overhear him before lowered his voice conspiratorially, "- boyfriends or something."

Scarecrow leant back in his chair and, putting on the best camp act he could muster, said naughtily; "Sorry babe."

In response, Mother clocked him around the head.  
>"Cut it out," she said. "It's just not you."<p>

As Schofield rubbed the back of his head where she'd hit him – you'd think after all this time with Mother he would have learnt to duck – She turned her attention to Book II.

"And as for you," she said, "You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to come tonight, so deal with it."

"So that woman behind you checking you out…?" Book let the question trail off as Mother spun around to look wildly only to find nothing but a slowly emptying dance floor.

"Har-dee-fucking-Ha Riley," She returned scathingly as Book laughed at her.

"I believe the point Mother is trying to make is that you are in a gay bar, the natural assumption then being that you are gay," Schofield interjected. If anything, seeing Book and Mother so clearly out of their place made his realise that he actually was comfortable here, at least, more comfortable than they were.

He smiled a genuine smile, it's small but it is one that lights up his whole face so that he no longer looks like a battle-hardened and somewhat broken soldier; but rather just a young man, in a bar, enjoying a night out with his friends.

Friends who cared more about his happiness than their own ease.

"Besides," he continued, "You can't tell someone's sexuality just by looking at them."

Book snorted into his drink and looked pointedly over Shane's shoulder, who in turn peered around the respective shoulder to see what it was Book was attempting to draw his attention to.

His gaze fell on a group of men who he was fairly sure were dressed as the village people.

"Point taken," he conceded. "Sometimes you can tell but most of the time you can't. I mean, hey, look at Mother here."

"Fuck you Scarecrow," she glared at him but he could see the laughter in her eyes. Sure enough, neither one could hold the stare for long and the three of them soon packed up laughing.

Suddenly, Mother stood up. "Right, you little shit," she said addressing Schofield, "for that, you're dancing with me."

He was about to protest but she already had a firm grip of his hand and Book was pushing him out of his seat with an amused grin. A thought crossed his mind, _Why the hell not?_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** This chapter is for Soda and Darkhunter, currently two of my favourite people on the planet. Your reviews keep me going guys so thanks majorly! And Soda, I don't recognise the terminology "uke" and "seme" but I think I got the general gist and honestly, I've been wondering that myself. Your thoughts – and anybody else's - on the matter would be greatly appreciated! :P

A quick note on how I've portrayed the three of them when they are perhaps not as sober as they would normally be. Book II is a methodical and cautious kinda guy, he thinks through everything before he says/does it but alcohol slows down those processing pathways, so he appears perhaps just a little bit slow. Mother on the other hand, has a mischievous streak to begin with and combined with drinking means that whatever bit of her brain which reminds her that this is probably not a good idea, just stops functioning. And Schofield, I don't think he would drink all that often, at least, not a lot because he's always in control and alcohol takes that from you. So when he is a touch on the tipsy side, everything that he's trying to repress slips through and he does stuff he'd never normally do. That's just how I thought they would be though, if you reckon otherwise, happy to hear it! Hmm, maybe not as quick a note as I thought it would be…

Chapter 6

Schofield allowed Mother's massive hands to drag him to his feet. As they made their way through the not so crowded anymore dance floor, he noticed something strange. "Mother," he said, "they're all staring at us." Indeed, they were attracting many an odd look and sidelong glance from the other patrons.

"I think dancing with a girl might be against the rules," Mother whispered back theatrically as she looked around with mock concern. His own eyes followed the pattern of hers, only with genuine concern. She just rolled her eyes at him.

"Boy, do you need to loosen up a bit," she said as she swung a hand around to clip him on the head again. This time, he successfully ducked it, bringing his hands up to protect himself, which she gleefully grabbed and pulled him into a lively somewhat-rhythm that very nearly matched the beat of the music.

One might have been forgiven for thinking that years of training in agility, speed and reflexes might translate into at least a vague sense of coordination on the dance floor – and in Scarecrow's case at least, it did – Mother was a whole different story; but they were having fun.

It was when Mother's huge size nine foot had connected once again with his own slightly smaller feet that Schofield, wincing, had felt a hand fall on his shoulder. He spun round in surprise to find himself looking at an incredibly handsome man standing there, smiling at him.

"Mind if I cut in?" The stranger asked smoothly. His accent was precise, educated, all east-coast charm.

"She's all yours," Schofield replied, "just watch out for any vital body parts."

The stranger threw his head back and laughed, revealing gleaming white teeth. Behind him, Schofield was pretty sure he heard the sound of Mother's hand connecting with her face in exasperation. "Actually, I was rather hoping you would dance with me," He clarified.

The surprise was evident on Schofield's face, with both eye brows raised and a finger pointed at himself in question. "Me?" He said.

"Yes you," the stranger replied, managing to display every one of his perfect teeth. "I don't see any other mysteriously attractive men in the immediate vicinity. You are gay I hope?"

"Yeah," Schofield said quietly as he could manage whilst still trying to sound casual. He nodded his head slightly as he said it whilst slipping his hands into his pockets and looking at the floor.

"Well then, what about that dance?"

All of a sudden, the walls seemed very close to him and the air was uncomfortably warm. He could feel Mother's eyes on the back of his neck. "Think I might need another drink first," he said softly, mostly to himself.

"Then let me buy it for you." If nothing else, the bloke was persistent at least.

"I can't," Shane replied after a moment, trying to explain. "I'm really just here with friends."

"Right," the stranger said, practically pursing his lips. He turned his attention just over Schofield's shoulder to where Mother was standing. "Do you mind if I borrow him?" He asked her.

"Not at all," She replied, giving Schofield a little nudge in the back. "He's all yours, just bring him back in one piece." She winked, and disappeared. Schofield turned around and called out to her, "oi!" but she'd already disappeared.

He was left with no choice but to turn back to the handsome stranger who had extended one elegant hand. Shane looked at it for a minute, took a deep breath and said, "What the heck," before accepting it.

"And what might your name be?" He asked as he led Schofield through to the very middle of the floor.

"Shane," he replied. The name felt slightly odd on his tongue, he rarely used it after all.

"Shane," the other man repeated, "I'm Keith." He supplied. "And you've never been here before have you Shane?"

"That obvious?"

"Painfully."

"So," Schofield said as they stood there. With one hand on the back of his neck and looking slightly confused, "Who leads?"

When Mother arrived back, alone, at the table, Book II was immediately concerned.  
>"What have you done with Scarecrow?" He asked her.<p>

"Oh shush," Mother said, turning around to scan the dance floor. "He's fine. I left him dancing with Brad Pitt."

"What?" Book was confused. "What the hell is Brad Pitt doing in a gay bar in downtown Washington D.C.?"

Mother turned around and just looked at him. "Sometimes, you are too much like your father," she said. "The guy _could've_ been Brad Pitt for how fucking gorgeous he was. If he wasn't gay and I wasn't married…" She trailed off wistfully.

"God I hope he kisses him." She added after a moment. Book II continued to look at her, still confused.  
>"What?" She said indignantly, looking back at him, "One of us ought to."<p>

It was nigh on twenty minutes later before Shane managed to find his way back to the table.

"One of these days, I'm going to kill you," he said tersely to Mother as he sunk down into the only available chair and grabbed the closest glass with some alcohol left in it, not particularly caring that it was Book's. Try as they might to make him elaborate some – any – details of what had happened, Schofield resolutely downed the glass and announced simply, "think I'm gonna need something stronger."

It was a bottle of bourbon, several more beers and far too many shots later that the three of them managed to stagger out of the bar and back to Mother's place on base. The next morning, who – if any of them – it was that made the sensible decision not to drive back, they wouldn't remember. Nor would they remember quite where they'd left the car to begin with, which in all fairness could have contributed significantly to that decision.

"Think you two should stay here tonight," Mother had said as they'd straggled in through the front door of her place. Having considerably more bodyweight than either Schofield or Book II, she had a significant advantage over both of them when it came to drinking and was consequently, the most sober of the trio.

They tripped and clung to each other and laughed their way up the hall to the longue room. Thankfully, Ralph managed to sleep through the whole commotion. Having already driven to Greensborough North Carolina and back, he was out like a light. Mother frequently said that a freight train could come through the bedroom window and Ralph would sleep through it, a skill which comes in handy when three drunken marines are traipsing through your house.

When they eventually found the longue room, Book tripped over the end of his couch and fell face forwards onto it. Schofield managed, only slightly more gracefully, to flop onto the other. His glasses clattered to the floor and he passed his hands in front of his eyes.

"How come yurnot slurring," Book II said to him after he had managed to turn himself clumsily onto his side. "S'not fair."

Schofield, lying on his couch with his hands still covering his eyes, replied, "I've had an awful lot more practice with hard liquor than you."

"But don't worry too much," he added as Mother left the room to attempt to find her bedroom and sleeping husband. "The room won't stop spinning." He didn't remember anything after that because he was asleep as soon as his eyes closed.

He woke up only several hours later, whilst it was still dark, with a pounding headache and a throat like sandpaper. He tried to work out what it was that had woken him only to get a shock when he found Book II kneeling beside his couch, one hand outstretched as though he'd just removed it from Schofield's shoulder.

"Whoa!" Both men said in unison, jumping a little.

"Sorry," Book II said, "you were having a nightmare, thrashing about and yelling, so I thought I should wake you."

"Thanks," Schofield said, breathing hard but immensely glad that it was still dark enough and Book was still drunk enough not to notice he was painfully aroused.

"Was it Serbia?" Book continued to press.

"Something like that," he said as he shook his head to himself, trying to clear it of images of Jack.

As Book returned to his own couch on the other side of the room, Schofield tried to force himself upright and to remain steady. Eventually, he found his way to his feet and stumbled across the room.  
>"Where're you going?" Book whispered at him.<p>

"Bathroom," he hissed back.

Before he fell back to sleep, Book II thought heard a dull 'thunk' and a muffled "ow" from the direction of the bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Warning for any males who may be reading this story: this chapter contains discussion of feelings! Don't worry, Scarecrow is just as uncomfortable with it as you are.

Also, please note that this is the second chapter this day! It's amazing how much reviews motivate you to get off your ass and keep writing! Not that I'm shamelessly asking for reviews here...

Chapter 7

Ralph woke early. He had a long haul drive to achieve today and he was planning on setting off as early as he possibly could. The blinking red light of his alarm clock told him it was 4:17 in the morning. He figured that was as good a time as any. Careful not to wake Gena, who was snoring peacefully next to him, he rolled out of his side of the bed and reached for the overalls he was sure he'd dropped just there. As he was searching for them, his foot connected unexpectedly with the edge of the bed frame.  
>"Oof, ow;" he grunted, holding his now throbbing toe.<p>

Suddenly, he sat up straighter and stilled. Maybe his ears were playing tricks on him but he was fairly sure that the old house echoed the sound back at him.

"Ow," the echo said. Only, it didn't sound like his voice.

No, he could definitely hear the sound of someone moving cautiously through the hallway.

He reached instinctively for the baseball bat that always lay an arm's length away from the bed. Ralph didn't mess around with guns. He left that sort of shit to Gena. Besides, he found it was far more satisfying to thump the bastard sneaking around his house around the head with a large blunt object and watch them squirm.

He stepped out into the hallway, bat raised. He could see a shadowy, yet dishevelled looking figure, with one hand braced against the wall to steady themself. Ralph reached out one hand slowly and flicked on the light switch. The figure cried out in pain and instantly threw a hand up to cover his eyes from the blinding light.

"Jesus, Scarecrow," he exclaimed as he lowered the bat, "What d'ya think you're doing? I could'a killed you."

Even wincing, Schofield managed a small laugh. "I doubt it," he said.

Temporarily, both men forgot they weren't currently friends. Ralph chuckled too as he replied, with the bat now down around his knees, "Reckon I could take you in that state, you look like shit."

Schofield tried to lower his hand a little, the one not holding him up against the wall, but the light was still playing havoc with his head.  
>"That would be a fairly accurate summation of how I'm feeling," he managed. "Could you remind me where the living room is?"<p>

Ralph jerked his head towards a door just behind Schofield; somehow he'd managed to overshoot it. Likewise, Schofield inclined his own head in thanks. As they entered, he was about to comment on how blissfully dark the room was when Ralph hit another light switch, causing Book II to wake up from his not all that peaceful sleep and emit a sort of strangled cry of pain. Ralph just looked at the pair of them.  
>"Am I about to find out why Mother's been out all night?" He asked.<p>

"Never mind," he said gruffly, "I don't wanna know."

Which was fortunate really, because neither Schofield nor Book was really capable of explaining exactly what they had got up to that night without mentioning that it happened to be a gay bar they went to, given that they weren't sure Ralph would take all that well if his reaction to Schofield's revelation in the first place had been anything to go by.

Ralph just looked at the pair of them as they slowly both collapsed back on their respective couches. They were a fairly sorry picture. Book II rolled onto his stomach – almost falling off the couch in the process – whilst Schofield grabbed the cushion he'd been using as a pillow and held it over his face.

"You know what," Ralph said, "I'm just gonna leave you three to stew in it."

As he made to leave, two muffled voices called out from behind him in unison, "Turn the damn light off."

Thank god it was Sunday, as the three of them did not finally emerge from sleep for quite a bit longer. Eventually, the smell of very strong coffee wafting from the kitchen was enough to tempt Book and Schofield off the couches and into the land of the living. They shuffled into the kitchen, having slept in whatever they were wearing the night previously, making for a rather scruffy pair.

Mother was already waiting for them. She'd already got one mug down and was considerably brighter for it. Wordlessly, she passed another couple of mugs full of the still steaming coffee to the pair of them. Her eyes lingered on Schofield however, as he accepted it gratefully.

"What?" He eventually asked her.

A smirk formed on her lips.  
>"How did you get that bruise on your forehead?"<p>

His hand flew up to his head, where sure enough, the skin felt rather tender. There was no way of beating about the bush here, so he decided honesty was the best policy and let them laugh if they would.  
>"Walked into your bathroom door," he said matter of factly.<p>

Sure enough, both Mother and Book II snorted into their coffees. Schofield just kept on drinking his in what he hoped was dignified silence.

As Mother finished her second cup, she figured she felt reasonably able to cook some breakfast without burning the kitchen down. So she shoved half a dozen – on second thoughts, make that a dozen – slices of bread into her heavy duty toaster and joined the boys at the rarely used table.

"You know," she said slyly as she sat down, "you never did tell us what happened with that bloke last night. Please tell me you at least locked tongues with him."

She looked at him expectantly for a few minutes whilst he resolutely ignored her. Of the two of them though, it was clear who was the more stubborn. Eventually, he gave in and shook his head a little.

"Dammit," she yelled, bringing her hand down and slapping the table so hard the legs shook. "I just don't understand you, we take you to a gay bar, find you an absolute hunk of a bloke and you do nothing! You're clueless. It's like the whole situation with Jack, if you'd just try-"

Then it was Shane's turn to splutter into his coffee as memories of the nights dreams surged over him again. Thankfully, he had retrieved his glasses from the floor because they at least served to cover his eyes and a little bit of the warm pink tinge that he could feel creeping across his cheeks but they did nothing to hide that dratted stupid little smile he couldn't stop whenever Jack's name was mentioned, or Jack was present, or really anything even vaguely related to Jack at all.

After all, that guy he'd danced with had been seriously attractive but the details Shane had noticed most was that he was probably within an inch of Jack in height, although his eyes weren't nearly as bright a blue and his hair was far too blonde; but if he squinted a little, he could almost imagine that it was Jack's callused hand resting in the small of his back, Jack's broad shoulder he was gripping, Jack dancing with him.

_Pull yourself together,_ he thought to himself,_ you're the Scarecrow, not some stupid lovesick school-girl._

_lovesick_

_love_sick

_shit!_

Book II's voice dragged him back to reality and he blushed even harder.  
>"She's right you know," he was saying. "He's really funny and nice and he's Australian so that just makes him cool. If you'd just give him a chance I'm sure-"<p>

Schofield tuned him out. He was far more concerned with the look of dawning comprehension on Mother's face. His nerves intensified significantly as she started to smile the wicked sort of smile that only Mother could and which he knew, always preceded trouble – usually for him.

"You're blushing -" she said, cutting Book II off.

"-And Smiling!" She added as she seized his face, forcing him to look at her.

Her mouth fell open in surprise and her expression was gleeful.  
>"You rotten little shit!" She roared, "You could've bloody well told us before we took you out to find someone that you've already fucking found him."<p>

She had fortunately let go of his head, so he took the opportunity to bury it in his hands.

He heard Book's voice, "Am I missing something?"

From behind his hands, he replied, "yes, and I'd really prefer it if it stayed that way."

"Oh like hell," Mother piped up, "He's in love with him."

He just groaned out loud as he heard Book ask, "Who?"

"Jack, you idiot," Mother's voice boomed over his bowed head, when suddenly, it dawned on him what she'd actually said.

"Whoa, wait-" he said, flinging his head up, "-who said anything about love?"

Mother just looked at him with fond exasperation.  
>"Oh come on," she teased gently, "your face is as red as that bloody awful carpet over there and you're grinning like a fool. You really trying to tell me that he doesn't make your mouth go dry and your blood go south, your brain stops functioning but your heart beats faster and you feel all funny but in a way you never want to end. Tell me – truthfully - he doesn't make you feel like that."<p>

_All that and more_, he thought disparagingly but aloud he said, "Well, Maybe – but that doesn't make it love."

"Bullshit," she replied but before she could continue, he interrupted her.

"Mother," he said quickly and sharply, "I can't be in love with him. I don't want to be in love with him. I'm not ready for it. OK?"

He knew the outburst had sounded a little harsher than he'd intended. Book at least, had recoiled in shock and Mother looked fairly stunned as well, so he continued a little gentler.  
>"What I meant was, it's difficult enough dealing with all this out and proud shit. I'm not ready to walk down a street holding hands with a guy, or kiss anyone in public. It's all a little too much, too soon. I just want to be able to deal with myself before adding a boyfriend into the mix."<p>

Mother leant forward and placed her hands on the table, surveying him in silence for now. But that never lasts. When she spoke, it was unusually gentle but with a hint of amusement.  
>"Honey, I think it's time for another lesson in control: You can't control everything," she said. "A lot of people wait a long time to feel that way about anybody. If you've got it, you got to fight for it."<p>

"Well there's no point fighting for it here anyway," he retorted, "Jack's straight, of that I'm certain."

"Yeah and everybody who knew you was certain you were straight," she quipped back.

Book II, who thus far had been quiet, decided now to interject his thoughts.  
>"You should tell him how you feel," he said softly but firmly.<p>

Schofield shook his head equally as firmly. "No," he said, "I've just got to deal with him for another month and then forget all about this."

Neither Book II nor Mother wanted to point out to him that unless he was planning on just abandoning all his friends in the unit, it was highly likely that he'd still be seeing Jack on quite a regular basis even after he'd left the marines. Mother opened her mouth to speak but Book II's stomach decided at that point, to make its thoughts heard. They had long ago forgotten about the now cold toast and it was not satisfied with the situation. It let out a long, low growl that managed to completely stop conversation as both Mother and Schofield laughed at him.

"Sorry," Book II said sheepishly.

They fell into a relaxed sort of silence.

"Well," Shane said eventually, "I'd say I think I need a drink only after last night I'm not sure I could stomach it. Who's for going out and getting some food?"

Book II readily agreed. Now they only had to find the car…


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I realised I'm basing my idea of a marine base on the army bases here in Australia… Hoping they're fairly similar to their American counterparts. They're pretty cool to be honest, like a whole little self-contained community. There are separate houses for married/senior personnel, barracks with both single rooms and shared dorms, common areas and a mess, (think M*A*S*H) and everything else you would expect to find in a normal village – probably a grocer, a café or two, parks, a school (for real, I was driving through a base today and it came complete with school), maybe even a library, (okay, that could be more a figment of my imagination but I can't imagine life without books so they WILL have books – at least, the ones that can read will) and of course training facilities like a gym, ropes courses, sniper range, combat practice fields etc. Thought I'd let you know what the base I'm talking about in my story actually looks like in case it's not particularly clear.

And a note on Schofield's family, since it comes up in this chapter. My previous story was written before thieves came out and so it doesn't follow canon exactly, though thankfully, it was actually fairly close. The only major changes are that Shane's father is not the son of Michael Schofield, but rather his mother is his daughter. Shane has her last name because his parents were never married. Also, his father was a marine but more in the style of Haggerty – a pencil pusher type marine who eventually went into administration and business within the corp. I don't know if it was clear or not in the previous story, but Schofield lived with his mum (Australian spelling, sorry. Must remember to use American spelling in the actual story but I can't bring myself to use it in any other circumstance) and grandparents in Wyoming – according to thieves, he's from south Carolina but I just cannot see Schofield as a southerner at all - until he was ten, at which point his father sent him to a fancy school in New York and he was forced to reside with him at least during term time, though he would have probably spent holidays with his mum.

I googled the whole "weetbix in America" thing and was pleased to discover they are available! I wasn't really sure if they were popular or not though, but it fit better for the story if they weren't. If any American readers would like to correct me of that opinion I'd be happy to hear it.

Also, some slight citrusy content is starting to appear now.

Only one more thing I promise! I'm going away for a bit over a month so this is probably the last chapter for a while. Apologies to loyal readers but I promise, by the time I've got back, there should be plenty of chapters to make up for it!

Welcome back the essay author note!

Chapter 8

One retrieved car and one seriously greasy breakfast later, Book II was returned safely to his apartment and Schofield to the barracks. He hadn't particularly looked forward to returning after a night of suspended reality to noisy and undoubtedly curious young marines. Add Jack's enjoyable and yet alarming presence and complete with one hell of a hangover, it made for a situation he would rather avoid.

What he found waiting for him in the small pigeon hole with his name written on a strip of tape that served as a makeshift letter box did nothing to improve the day's prospects. He had hoped to slink off to his bedroom unnoticed and sleep the rest of the morning away. Instead, the large, business like envelop that appeared to contain an entire book if the way the edges were straining were anything to go by, was beckoning him. Or more rather, demanded his reluctant attention. He forced himself to walk past the stairs and over to an old and worn desk tucked away in the corner of the common room. When he slit open the envelope and pulled out what looked like an entire ream of paperwork, he could have cried. Instead however, he settled for merely looking despondent. He dropped his glasses to the desk – there was no way he could work with them on anyway – and rubbing already straining eyes, he pulled the work towards him and reluctantly began to read.

When he had heard that his father had died nearly two years ago now, he had felt nothing but a vague sense of regret for the relationship they had never had along with overwhelming relief that the man was now permanently gone from his life. He hadn't counted on the will leaving everything the man had worked for and built in his life to him, the son he had always wanted but who had never been good enough. Then again, Schofield had reasoned, his father had been a chauvinistic pig and so leaving everything to either of his two, legitimate, daughters was out of the question. Nonetheless, when control of his father's vast multi-billion dollar military-industrial empire had been handed over to him he had been thoroughly unprepared. His first instinct had been to ruthlessly dismantle his father's life work out of sheer spite for the treatment his mother had born at the hands of that man.

It was Book II who pointed out that the people who would suffer the most if he did so were the blue-collar workers at the very bottom of the heap and not his father, who was well beyond his reach now. So he had turned his hand to managing the business. By the large, all the nitty gritty details were handled by the rather more commercial minded people he had hired to run the damn thing for him but he still needed to oversee and approve any decisions they might make. Once a month, a package such as this would arrive for him to review and sign; and once a month, he seriously considered selling the entire stupid conglomerate.

It was only the knowledge of the ethical way in which the company was run and the profits used that prevented him from doing so. Along with all the other money he had received from the inheritance, only a small portion – which was still a significant amount – had been kept and stored away in a secure trust to pay for his youngest sister's college education. The remainder, an even more significant amount, had been donated directly to a local army medical centre. Along with the exorbitant amount of money, he had inherited several estates across the United States. He had gifted the family mansion in upstate New York to the elder of his two sisters, perhaps the only one of them who had fond memories of the place. Another large country estate in the south had been donated to a large hospital, on the proviso that it was used as a rehabilitation and recovery centre for those suffering psychological trauma – invariably including damaged soldiers and abused children. The profits from the business and the sale of the remaining few estates went into the upkeep of the facility. It probably wasn't the most efficient or entrepreneurial manor with which to run a business but that had never been the aim.

His eyes were beginning to glaze over the words when a familiar figure – one unfortunately burned into his brain and prone to popping up in his dreams very much naked and in the mood for causing trouble – dropped into a seat he had dragged over beside him. Jack had placed the chair so that its back was facing Schofield and he was straddling it, leaning casually against the back with his arms folded on the edge.

Bright blue eyes met far darker ones that, unconcealed for once, looked weary behind those shocking scars.

"Whatever you're doing," he said with a grin, "I doubt you're doing it well. You look dead on your feet - or not on your feet as the case may be."

Schofield waved a hand over the paperwork. "It's not important," he said, "It really only needs my signature. I don't know why I bother to read it; don't understand half of it anyway." He forced a small laugh.

Jack on the other hand, frowned curiously.  
>"What is it?" He asked.<p>

"Just some business shit," Schofield answered as he leaned back in the rickety chair, which creaked its protest. He was shocked to see that it had somehow already gotten dark outside. He ran a hand across his tired face, concealing a yawn, and through his now seriously overgrown hair which was messy under normal circumstances. It currently stuck out in every direction imaginable. Jack reached across him to grab the papers and rifle through them. If they had been any closer, Schofield was sure their abs would have brushed against each other. As it were, he breathed in so as to avoid that perilous situation.

Jack let out a long low whistle as he looked through the papers. He looked up at Schofield incredulously, holding the papers aloft, "This what you're planning on doing when you're out of here?"

Schofield laughed and replied emphatically, "Hell no!"

"What is it then? Some sort of sick hobby?" Jack asked as he swatted Shane playfully with the bundle.

In response, Shane grabbed at the bundle and replied, "As if. It's my father's last attempt at ruining my life."

He tried to wrest the papers out of Jack's hands but found that the other man was equally as strong as he was and perfectly capable of holding his own. A brief, playful, tousle resulted in the papers flying out of both of their hands and scattering themselves on the floor.

Looking at them, Schofield moaned a little.  
>"They're going to kill me," he said.<p>

Jack, on the other hand, snorted from the laugh he had been trying – and failing – to conceal. Shane looked from Jack, to the papers, back to Jack, before giving up and laughing too. They both dropped to the floor and began to gather the mess up haphazardly, hoping that they weren't supposed to go in any particular order.  
>"Who gives a stuff," he said, "I pay them to fix these sort of issues."<p>

On his hands and knees, Jack handed him a stack of paper. Their hands brushed momentarily and god, if Shane wasn't sure it had burned. Instantly, he became aware of how close he was pushing the line between playful banter and flirting. Every sensible instinct in his body, temporarily drowned out by Jack's fairly intoxicating presence and the easy way they just got on, flooded back and he stood abruptly, gathering the last couple of papers back into the stack.

Not quite meeting Jack's eyes when he stood, he said firmly, "I think you should go now, I've got to finish these."

If Jack was surprised by the sudden dismissal, he didn't show it. He just bit his tongue and nodded his head slightly before turning and leaving the room without another word. Schofield watched him go, torn between relief and reluctance at the, admittedly beautifully carved, retreating back. Sighing, he settled himself back down to finish his work.

By the time Schofield had finished reading and signing the entire stack, night had well and truly fallen and he had resolved to avoid Jack and thus trouble as much as possible.

Jack it seemed had other plans entirely. The next morning, Schofield was awoken by a loud thump on his door and a familiar voice calling out "breakfast." He was tempted to simply ignore it and go back to sleep with a pillow over his head but unfortunately, he had work to do. The responsibilities of running a unit were not going to be any easier to manage on an empty stomach. So eventually, he rolled over and out of the warm, tangled sheets and down the stairs.

It had evidently been too much to hope for a nice quiet breakfast. Jack was unfailingly bright in the mornings, much to everyone else's annoyance, and he whistled as he put various things away in the cupboards. Schofield, for his part, stood there with bleary eyes and rumpled hair and stared at the highly unappetising looking things sitting in the breakfast bowls. One, which he assumed was Jacks, had several of the funny looking little brown logs slowly turning into mush as they floated in some milk. The one that was evidently his from the lack of milk, simply had four of the plain looking, rectangular brown cakes sitting in it with what looked like a bit of sugar dusted around the edges.

He was going to ask why Jack had decided to feed them what he thought looked like cardboard, but all he could manage to force out of his mouth was, "What exactly is that?"

Jack spun around and was pleasantly surprised to see that Schofield had neglected his customary sunglasses. The scars were in plain view, alongside perfectly raised eyebrows.

"Weetbix," he replied cheerfully, pushing the box across the table to Schofield. "They're Australian," he continued, "I was pretty surprised to see them in the shops. George Gregan used to eat twenty-seven of these for breakfast. Don't know how, I can barely manage more than five. They're good for you and seriously filling."

The other man chattered away as Schofield sat down and reached for the box.  
>"Right," he said unconvinced, "Weet-a-bix?"<p>

"," Jack replied, carefully enunciating each syllabus distinctly with hand gestures to boot.

Schofield leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  
>"It says Weet-<em>a<em>-bix on the box," he replied, deliberately drawing out the 'a' to annoy Jack with a small smile on his face.

"That's cause you Americans fuck everything up," Jack replied, shaking his head but with a slowly spreading smile. "Now shut up and eat your breakfast babe," he said jokingly, "it took me forever to work out how to make them edible without milk."

If Jack had known the effect that simple sentence would have had on Schofield, he almost certainly wouldn't have said it. His face darkened instantly and something dangerous glinted in his eye. Jack could suddenly see why he was such a damn good marine – Schofield exuded carefully restrained destruction right then and there. He stood up sharply, forcing the chair backwards and stalked out of the room without another word or backwards glance, pulling the door shut behind him.

Jack, a little stunned, let him go.

Alone in the hallway, Schofield leant up against the wall.  
><em>Might have been a bit of an over-reaction Scarecrow<em>, he chided himself.  
>Jack, he decided, was not good for him. Something about him made his own brain seem to stop functioning rationally; made him feel uncontrollable.<br>_It's just a single fucking word_  
><em>He was joking<br>_But god, he wished he wasn't.  
>He brought his head hard against the wall, hearing the satisfying bang. Pain flared up like flames in his vision and brought him back to reality. He turned and jogged up the stairs to dress.<p>

When he came back down again only a few minutes later, complete with sunglasses, he pressed one cautious ear up against the door. From the other side, he could hear the muffled noises of a person – probably still Jack – wandering around the kitchen before abruptly, he heard the door slam and all sound ceased.

He figured it was safe to enter.

Opening the door a crack and peering round, he was relieved to see that the room was indeed empty. One thing caught his eye as he entered. His bowl had been left as it was with a note sitting on top of it in a messy scrawl.

_Sorry_, it said.

His stomach was gnawing with both guilt and hunger, so he picked up one of the funny looking weetbix things and decided to give it a try. He noticed that Jack had carefully sawed through the biscuit, added liberal amounts of butter and sugar and then stuck it back together again like an unusual sandwich. It wasn't half bad he thought as he ate half of it in one bite.

Jack was right, they were very filling. He only ate the fourth one because of the obvious amount of effort that had gone into making them, before quickly washing his plate and running out the door to find the rest of his unit.

Over the course of the day, he watched Jack prove himself an expert marksman on the sniper range and as agile as a cat on the high ropes obstacle course but got nearly half killed by Mother in hand to hand combat. He hadn't trusted himself to fight Jack; he wasn't quite sure he wouldn't fuck him or kill him entirely. Instead, he had offered to show Skip some pointers. At barely 5 foot 3, she often struggled in sheer physicality contests but more than made up for it in other areas. Today however, she was happily kicking his ass. His head swam as another blow connected with his temple. He had been momentarily distracted by Mother landing a few bone crunching blows to Jack's jaw, one of which had split his lip. He had watched him spit out blood and felt his pain himself – though, that could also have been the kick Skip had placed quite nicely on his shin. Pulling himself back to his own fight, he swung an arm around and easily flipped Skip and pinned her to the ground without hurting her too much.  
>"You're getting me," he said, "but you're still not getting me down and that's the crucial difference."<p>

Pulling her up, he demonstrated a few moves that she could use to kill a much larger opponent easily.

It was a bunch of very battered and bruised marines who returned to their barracks that evening. Schofield had insisted on sticking with Skip until she could throw him to the ground and damn near break his neck.

Schofield had especially been looking forward to a long, almost painfully hot shower to loosen a particularly knotted muscle at the base of his back. He could sense someone's eyes on the back of his neck and sure enough, when he turned around to see it was Jack who was staring at him, looking very much like he wanted to talk to him but something held them both back.

At that moment, before either of them could get up the resolve to simply cross the room, Rebound came running down the stairs holding a large razor aloft and cut them off. Amidst cries of "You've been let off too long," and "Let's make a marine out of you," Jack was slowly surrounded by the other cheering marines and forced to kneel on the small tiled area around the kitchenette by Bigfoot. Schofield decided to quietly take his leave and slipped out of the room, leaving Jack to face whatever it was they had prepared for him.

Stepping into the small bathroom and quickly divesting himself of his clothes, he admired the multi-coloured array of bruises that adorned his body, whilst the water heated up. If nothing else, Skip was certainly inventive. He had rather hoped that the steaming hot spray would help somewhat to ease his aching back but the shower was a fairly flimsy one and the jets just weren't powerful enough. His hands splayed over his back, he could feel the knot pulsing beneath them. Carefully, he began to knead at it. It was never quite the effective as it would have been if someone else had been massaging it but it was better than nothing. Unbidden, the image of Jack's hands carefully running over his back – and lower – came to mind. The shower was only small, so their bodies would have to be pressed flush against each other to fit. The intensity of his gaze before; Jack on his knees, as he probably still was…

The stream of images flashing through his mind had certainly served to stir another part of his body. One of which he'd been patently ignoring until now. Only now, he most certainly had a problem that wasn't just going to go away on its own.

He was torn. One half of his mind wanted nothing more than to sink against the wall and with probably only a couple of firm strokes give in to this sensational torture.  
>The other half, the stubborn half that was still fighting tooth and nail against these feelings he couldn't seem to get rid of for the man currently the cause of his situation, had already reached for the taps and turned them forcefully. He gasped aloud as the water turned icy.<p>

He knew he couldn't keep going like this. It had been well over a year now since he'd slept with anyone and a hell of a lot longer since he'd slept with anyone he particularly wanted to, but for now, he was content to simply push desire away until a more convenient time.

With the problem suitably subdued, he shut off the water and reached for several towels to try and warm his now frozen skin.  
>His back still hurt.<br>It was still early but he fell in to bed, pausing only to pull on a pair of loose boxers to sleep in and grabbing a book of the stack beside the bed.

The others had, thankfully, taken the hint and left him alone. At least he thought they had until a soft knock on the door about an hour later disturbed him. He let the book slip through his fingers and shut his eyes, feigning sleep. Unfortunately for him, whoever it was at the door was persistent enough to keep knocking. When they were suitably convinced that there was no answer coming, instead of just walking away, the door creaked open slowly and a figure walked over to his bed carefully.

From behind closed eyes, he heard a soft sigh and felt gentle hands remove the book from his chest where it had fallen. He sensed their movement through the shift in the air around him as whoever it was turned to go. Shane opened his eyes just a sliver to see Jack's form leaving the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

He supressed a laugh. They had given Jack the traditional marine buzz cut.

Opening his eyes fully, he rolled over to retrieve the book where it had been thoughtfully returned to the stack. It had been a sweet gesture and all but one that was also fairly annoying as he'd have lost his page. Pulling the book back up, the faint smile that had spread across his face grew. Jack had marked his place.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Okay, now we have distinct citrusy (sexual) content, you have been warned. I've never actually sat down to write something like this before and I wanted to keep it well within the limits of the M rating, so it's not too intense. At least, not compared to some of the frankly scary stuff you can find in other more active fandoms.

I really wanted to get these chapters out before I go, so here you go but this really will (probably, :p) be the last update for probably at least a month.

And I realised I might have a bit of an obsession with Schofield in the shower but then again… who wouldn't?

Chapter 9

Schofield was awoken in the middle of the night by irrefutable evidence that his body would no longer co-operate if he was going to continue to deny himself any form of gratification. If he could control it when he was conscious, well then it was simply going to demonstrate that it had absolute control when it came to his subconscious dreams and reactions. He had woken up with his skin flushed and sticky, breathing hard and lying in an uncomfortable wet patch.

_Shit,_ he thought to himself, it had been a long time since _that_ had happened.

And just to top the entire embarrassing situation off, he was as still hard as a rock. Unfortunately for him, he tended to sleep on his stomach so there was no way he could manage to get back into a position he could fall asleep in without the friction driving him crazy.

He was going to need to wash the sheets in the morning anyway he reasoned, so he tentatively slid one hand down his stomach and under the waistband of his boxers, biting his lip at the pleasurable contact. He was already on the edge from his dreams, of which only fragments remained but he was fairly sure it had been fast and rough, there had been a cockpit involved and somehow they had both been soaking wet. Either way, he was already so damn close. His breathing sped up in time with the rhythm of the strokes and he was fast falling over the edge, trying desperately to withhold a moan which escaped, thankfully softly, through gritted teeth against his best efforts anyway. He felt his breath hitch as his body shook and he came over a clenched fist with Jack's name on his lips alongside the taste of blood where he'd bitten down.

His head felt foggy and his limbs heavy as he allowed himself to fall back into a now sated sleep.

Only to wake up a few hours later to the annoyingly bright sun peering in through the holes in the curtain, and seriously itchy.

He decided to skip breakfast that morning. It had been one thing to wake up hard every morning since Jack arrived primarily due to lustful fantasies about Jack – after all, most guys could dream about a literal plank of wood and still wake up in the morning with a metaphorical one – but to actually get off on dreaming about him, that crossed a line which meant he certainly couldn't look Jack in the eyes quite yet. Sunglasses or no, they wouldn't hide the blush.

Instead, he opted for another shower. He knew he should have gotten up and washed himself off last night before it all dried in every unimaginably awkward and uncomfortable place imaginable, but he also knew it's hard to be rational with your hand in your pants.

Thankfully this time, he was able to leave the water on hot. Stepping out though, he tried to dry himself ineffectively with the towel that was still damp from last night. Abandoning it as a hopeless job, he just pulled a fresh pair of boxers on even though he was still damp. Strolling back into his room, he threw upon the curtains and let the sunlight bathe the room. It felt wonderfully warm against his bare skin. It was mornings like this that just made him want to run for miles. A smile creased his face at that thought. He didn't have any plans set in stone for the day. Maybe a good cross-country run would be an excellent way to pass the morning. After all, the annual marine corp marathon was rapidly approaching and they really did need to start training if they didn't want to make fools of themselves. Having never been stationed in the capital before, it would also help to familiarise themselves with the course.

Abandoning his utility pants and combat boots, he reached instead for a pair of running shorts – camouflaged of course – and a T-shirt emblazoned with U.S.M.C. A further quick search eventually yielded a battered pair of sneakers, wedged right under the bed, and a map buried under a pile of books, photographs and the odd letter or two from his sister.

One final quick glance around the room and Schofield was resolved to tidy it up at some point. It had become a bit of a mess, as any room is prone to doing when it is a person's only available space, but all the same, it was going to make packing a nightmare in the state it was currently in. He hastily stripped the sheets and picked up a few days' worth of dirty clothes off the floor and shoved them into a laundry bag. Conveniently slipping out the back stairs and down the fire escape, he jogged to the Laundromat. Calling Book II and Mother on the way, he told them to meet the rest of the unit at the George Washington Memorial Parkway before heading over to the mess. All eyes turned to look at him when he entered but it didn't really bother him that much, he was in too good a mood. The other marines groaned and grumbled loudly when he handed them the maps but that was to be expected so he ignored them, helping himself to coffee and toast instead. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of Jack sitting alone in the common room, undoubtedly waiting for him, so he sent Astro to go and let him know where to meet them.

When they'd finally all finished with the important business of breakfast, they ran at a fairly sedate pace – not wanting to tire themselves out completely before they even began – to the agreed meeting spot only to find Book II, Mother and Jack all already waiting for them.

Jack, it seemed, was not overly happy with him. Neither of them exchanged a single word as they set off. Schofield tried to convince himself that it was exactly what he wanted and what he had planned but something inside of him sank a little, especially knowing it was his fault. He had to admit though, he was a little surprised. Since his arrival, his own behaviour towards Jack had often been erratic and he knew, a little stupid at times. Yet all it took was him running out on their little breakfast ritual before Jack finally snapped at him.

He tried to clear his thoughts. After all, running wasn't meant to be about thinking. It was meant to be about helping him not think, forget about the harrowing couple of months he'd had and the rollercoaster of emotions he hadn't really been prepared for. Right now, it was meant to be just him and the wind through his dark, damp hair.

And the eight other marines all around him.

They took the marathon course fairly gently, being the first time any of them had run over thirty kilometres in one go for a while and – fit or not - most of their bodies were still sore from the gruelling combat training yesterday. The course took them along the river and past most of the major landmarks of Washington D.C.

The Jefferson Memorial

The Washington Monument

The Lincoln

Capitol

All of which, Schofield realised, Jack was seeing for the very first time. He deliberately tried to slow the group down as much as possible so he might enjoy it more.

In the end, the run took them the better half of the day and by the time they returned, they were all exhausted. Schofield decided that was enough for today and let them go to enjoy the balmy afternoon. They all returned to the barracks for a bit of rec time. It was a dirty, dishevelled and very tired bunch of marines that collapsed into various chairs in the common room. The room smelt strongly of grass and sweat. His own hair was still damp but now with sweat.

He had contemplated simply returning to his room and holing up again for the afternoon but soon thought better of it. If he spent any more time in the shower, his unit was going to start thinking he was trying to drown himself. Besides, it wasn't like he stank more than anybody else. Instead, he went up to his room briefly to retrieve a fresh shirt and an old but much loved chess set that had once belonged to his grandfather. Returning to the common room, he set himself up in his favourite battered couch tucked in the corner and right under a window, laughing slightly to himself at the antics of his team as they fought a tough foosball battle.

It was a small, well-travelled magnetic travel set. It had certainly been through the wars, both military and domestic. Given to him by his grandad, along with a quick ruffle of his hair and a gruff "you'll be right," right before he was torn from his real family; it had been to Japan, New York, Bosnia, Antarctica, Afghanistan and all over the States as well as on every sea and carrier ship he'd ever served on. The small wooden pieces sometimes, softened with age between his fingers, felt like best friends he could take with him.

After losing several games in a row to himself, he was contemplating calling David Fairfax and inviting him over for a game or two. Only that would involve explaining how and why he came to be living in the barracks and soft enough to let his marines have the afternoon off simply because a nice sunny morning had left him in a good mood. He was considering the pros and cons of each situation when a shadow fell across the board and distracted him. It was Jack, smelling of soap and still running a towel through unruly wet spikes of hair.  
>"You play?" He asked congenially.<p>

"Evidently," Schofield replied, trying to encourage the man to leave him alone. Instead, he pulled over a chair and set himself up at the other end of the board, rearranging the pieces into their original positions from where Schofield had abandoned them, in check.  
>"You don't mind if I join do you?" He asked, whilst ducking down and searching the floor quickly for a missing white knight and black castle.<p>

Schofield didn't say anything. He simply held out two clenched fists.

Jack smiled broadly and tapped the left. Schofield turned it over and opened it to reveal the missing white knight, which he handed to Jack before returning the black castle to its spot on the board and spinning the whole board around so the black pieces were in front of him. He gestured for Jack to begin and the game was on.

It was clear that Jack knew the basics of chess – he only tried to move the bishop in a straight line once – but his knowledge extended to being able to castle and no further. Shane ruthlessly demolished his pieces and had him in check within a few minutes. His evasive moves however, were much better. It took a further twenty minutes of chasing his king and single remaining pawn around the board before he actually managed to catch him in checkmate.

Jack had laughed as Schofield had casually pushed his king over.

"Didn't realise I was playing with somebody who actually knew what they were doing," he said. As he spoke, a shrill _briiing _came from his pocket.  
>"Sorry, mine," he pulled out the phone and flipped it open as Shane wordlessly reset the board, hoping he was up for another game. He knew it was against all his rules but sitting here, playing with Jack was just too damn nice to want to stop. He glanced up quickly at the others. They were still heavily, and noisily, involved in apparent tournament now underway. Sanchez appeared to be taking bets on whether or not Astro and Rebound could take down Mother and Bigfoot.<p>

Snatches of Jack's conversation floated through his mind even though he was trying not to listen.

"Hi!"  
>He sounded sincerely excited to hear from whoever it was on the other end.<p>

"Listen, I'm in the middle of something. Can I call you back-"

"I know it's 3am."

"Well then next time let me call you-"

"Sorry! I'll talk to you later."

"I love you," he added hastily.

Shane quickly added it all up and felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach.  
>A girlfriend then, probably still in Australia.<p>

"Sorry about that," Jack said, slipping the phone back into his pocket and rubbing his hands together. "Now where were we? I was just lulling you into a false sense of security before, I'm going to kick your ass this time."

Schofield forced a grin. "You should call her back," he said.

Jack's smile on the other hand was genuine. "I don't think so," he said, "It's the middle of the night. I'd wake the kids up and she'd kill me."

Whatever it was that had hit his stomach, it now felt like it was twisting his insides all around into an awful knot.  
>"How old are they?" He asked from feigned politeness.<p>

Jack looked far away and a bit wistful, remembering good times with his family Shane supposed.

"Annabelle just turned two and baby Joe is nearly four months now."

"You should call her back," Schofield repeated, beginning to pack the pieces up with perhaps more vigour than was necessary. After all, it wasn't the chessmen's fault that Jack had his own little happy family that would surely be joining him in America as soon as he'd found a place to live.  
>Schofield berated himself mentally for not seeing it coming.<p>

A hand on his forearm stopped him.  
>"What are you doing?" Jack asked, amused.<p>

"Leaving," Schofield answered bluntly, the beginnings of a blush starting to colour his cheeks.  
>How could he have been so stupid!<p>

"Why?"

He didn't answer the question. Instead, he tried to shake his arm free but found that Jack had tightened his grip.

"Why?" He repeated more insistently.

Shane took a deep breath before saying as calmly as he could – whilst looking nervously at the others – "Can we not have this conversation here?"

Jack looked at him appraisingly for a minute but didn't loosen his hold.  
>"Are you gonna run away?"<p>

Schofield just glared at him, not that Jack fully appreciated it, hidden as it was behind the icy reflective lenses but all the same he seemed to get the message. Letting go of his arm, he followed Schofield out on to the front porch.

The late afternoon was still warm and the sun was still just above the treetops. It helped to calm him down a little but couldn't fully mask the uncomfortable, jittery sensation that was currently pounding his insides. Even though he had sort of consented to having this conversation, now that it came down to it, he didn't actually know what to say. So he settled instead for leaning his elbows against the railing and looking out over the training compound, beyond which lay eight hectares of land. They were lucky, he thought, to have so much green space surrounding them in the middle of D.C.

He didn't have to wait long before Jack, standing slightly behind him, spoke up. For the first time ever, Schofield thought he heard a slight tinge of anger in the other man's voice.

"I don't understand you sometimes," he said. "I get that I'm taking your job and you don't like me. I get why in the first week, every time I entered a room, you left, but I really thought we were starting to make some progress here. Only, every time I think we're doing okay, every time I try to talk to you or get to know you better, you flip out! I just don't know what I'm doing wrong here and I'd be very grateful if you could let me know."

He ran a hand through his now short hair, the bristles feeling funny against his fingers, and paced a couple of steps before stepping up beside Schofield – who had still not said anything or even given any indication he had heard – he took a deep, slow breath before continuing.

"I don't have a lot of friends in this country. Hell, I didn't have that many friends in my own either, but hey," he shrugged. "There's got to be a reason that all those people in there practically worship you and I would like the chance to find out what it is."

He spoke clearly and formally, "I would appreciate it if you would accept my offer of friendship and my apologies for whatever it is I've done to so clearly piss you off."

Thoughts were whirling through Shane's head. Jack was apologising. He didn't need to apologise – he was perfect - when it was himself who had successfully fucked up the whole situation because he couldn't deal with how he felt. Jack wanted them to be close – that was a very bad idea and he'd known it from the start, should've fought it harder - but nowhere near close enough for what Schofield wanted. Maybe something was better than nothing. Or it might drive him insane. Fuck, wasn't he already?

He just didn't know how to cope with this sort of situation. He'd never been all that good at it. Give him a gun and tell him to stop World War Three, he could do that but whether it was kissing a girl goodnight; or even worse, trying to tell a guy he actually cared about that he didn't hate him – not at all - it always left him stumped.

_Scarecrow, you know, every now and then, it's nice to see that you're human. You can leap off ice cliffs and swing across giant elevator shafts, but you still freeze up when it comes to kissing the girl._

Mother's words from that horror of a day sprung to his mind.

Not really helping, he thought. Those things were far less dangerous than what he was trying to screw himself up to do now.

Surely it wasn't meant to be this difficult.

_Some things are worth fighting for._

He really needed to stop listening to Mother's advice.  
>Or start following it.<p>

Unfortunately, by the time he had reached that conclusion, Jack had withdrawn his offered hand and was now staring coolly forward. Schofield realised he'd probably missed something fairly important. He didn't want to fuck it all up now, not when he was so close.

For once, giving in to pure instinct, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I like you Jack."

He looked up with surprise written on his face, both that Schofield had spoken and at what he'd said.

"Well then what's the problem?" He asked incredulously.

"No," Schofield shook his head, half to himself. There was no stopping now. "No you don't understand. I _really_ like you Jack."

He could have sworn he could see Jack's face start to furrow with confusion but he looked him in the eye anyway before confirming what Jack was only beginning to understand.  
>"Like <em>that.<em>"

That was all he could think of and so he stood there then, surprisingly calm but also in mute fear of what was going to happen next.

When Jack said nothing either, didn't even look at him, the nervous feeling in his stomach returned full blast.

When the (slightly adorable) furrow lines around his brow increased, Schofield felt whatever remaining shred of confidence he had plummet to somewhere around his feet.

"I'm going to go now," he said sharply, dropping his gaze to his own feet before disappearing off into the surrounding trees.

Jack, struck dumb, didn't follow.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Just a brief note on the way Australian people from the country do tend to speak, this is not a generalisation but speaking from my own experience (I grew up in the country although I now live in the city). Despite the transition to metric in Australia, quite a few country people tend to still use the term "mile" instead of kilometre, although they could be quite easily referring to a kilometre and not an actual mile. Likewise, no matter how many of them you've got, it's always singular "mile" not "miles." Just like it's always "math" and not "maths."

There's a lot of dialogue, actually, more monologue, in this chapter. If it doesn't always make sense, don't worry – it's not really meant to. It's more meant to convey how frantic and a little messed up Jack's head is at this particular moment.

Chapter 10

There was a spot just behind the obstacle course which perched over the sharp fall down to the snipers range. It was surrounded by trees and almost totally obscured from any sightline, yet from it, you could see out over almost all the Washington skyline. Schofield was sure he wasn't the only marine who had ever come here to think.

Currently, the only thought running through his mind was:

_..fuck._

He'd been sitting there for nearly an hour now and it was starting to get cold. Beside him, the little chess box was balanced on a small rock.

Suddenly, his thoughts – if one could call them that – were disturbed by a crunching noise coming from behind him. He'd done enough tracking to recognise the sound of a foot falling on a stick and he was instantly set on alert. There were only a couple of people who knew he liked to come here and only one who, currently, knew why he had taken off.

He spun around as someone else entered the small clearing. Of the two possible options, it was the third and worst who was there. He turned back and deliberately didn't look at him.

"How the hell did you find me?" He asked Jack emphatically.

"Mother told me about this place," he replied, looking around slightly amazed. "It's beautiful."

Without looking back, he heard Jack take a couple of cautious steps towards him, so he spoke up in the hope that he'd take the hint and leave him well alone.  
>"Don't think your girlfriend would approve of this."<p>

"What girlfriend?" A note of confusion was clear in his voice.

"The one back at your home at 3am with Jack Jr.," he said, not entirely successful in disguising a hint of bitterness.

He was surprised then, when Jack laughed loudly and dropped down to sit beside him with his legs crossed. "Joe," he said pointedly, "is my nephew and his mother, last time I checked, was my sister. Now, I might be from the country but we don't do that."

Surprise and embarrassment mingled across Shane's face as he looked up suddenly at Jack.  
>"Oh," he said.<p>

"The phone call -" Jack began.

Shane nodded.

"And you thought -"

Kept on nodding, absent-mindedly chewing on his bottom lip.

"Oh," and then he laughed, full and rich, throwing his head back which in turn, provoked a small smile from Schofield.

He nudged him gently in the ribs, saying teasingly, "Jealous much?"

"Shut up," he replied bashfully but with a playful bite.

There were a few moments of slightly awkward silence that Schofield just didn't know how to fill.  
>After all, last time he'd initiated conversation – if that was the right word for it – between them, it hadn't turned out all that well and was the reason for their current predicament.<p>

Not that he was particularly complaining. His treacherous body was happy, almost relaxed, to be with Jack, almost a little too close, in one of his favourite spots.

Jack, as usual, saved him from having to say anything.

"I knew," he said, breaking the tension and Schofield felt his heart stop. If this whole stupid conversation had all been for nothing then something was going to get broken.

"That you're gay," he qualified, when he caught Schofield's shocked expression.

"You said the corp didn't-" he began, but Jack cut him off.

"They didn't, I wasn't lying to you."

"Has someone written it on my back again?" He was only half joking.

"Mother told me," Jack replied, "Maybe my second day here. I think the idea was to explain that you weren't normally as much of a jerk as you were acting; that you'd had a real shit of a time and probably needed to take it out on someone."  
>Schofield snuffed a laugh and bowed his head. It was true, he couldn't deny it.<br>"Anyway," Jack pressed on, "Ever since then, I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Shane perked up just a little, perhaps there was a glimmer of hope in that statement, even if he was a fool to think it.

"-About my childhood, where I come from-"

A fool he was then.

If Jack caught the way that Schofield's shoulders deflated a little, then he didn't say anything about it.

"Where I come from," he repeated, "is a tiny little backwater town beyond the middle of nowhere. I lived on a cattle ranch and the nearest neighbour from there lived nigh on fifty mile away. The main street looked exactly the same as the other road but it was called that because it was the one with the pub on it. It was a real rough and tumble little town with real 'traditional values.' Being gay there, it's not allowed."

He stopped and turned to look at Shane, who was trying to make himself as small as possible.

"You've got to follow the rules there, so I did everything they wanted me to. Learnt to drive a tractor before I could walk, didn't finish school cause my future lay on the family farm anyway, fucked the only girl in town my age on the back seat of the truck. If I'd have given them the chance, I'm sure we would've been married with a couple of kids by now. Her dad was talking to my dad at least, and I didn't think I'd have a lot of say in the matter.

It was suffocating; it freaked me out; and I convinced myself it was her, that she was just wrong for me. So I told my parents I had bigger dreams than this and off I went to sign up for the army. They were mighty thrilled. They had two other sons to help round the farm and one off fighting for the country, what more did any parents want.

Only, it wasn't enough either. I got to Duntroon in the great city of Canberra and I had my uniform, and my pride and my escape, but still no girl I wanted to take back to meet my mum.  
>Maybe I should've had an inkling then but instead, I just threw myself into being as good a soldier as I could be, so I didn't disappoint her too much."<p>

He paused and took a deep breath, as though building up to something.

"The offer to join Special Forces came soon after and I decided I was too busy for a relationship anyway. That none of them were quite right for me. I was a great soldier and I didn't need anything else.

Then, this came up and I was flying halfway across the world in the hope that somewhere out there I'd find that damn elusive girl that was right. Only, when I get here, and Mother's telling me about you and everybody's telling me about you and I'm realising what a major mistake I've made coming here, trying to escape only to land myself right back in it."

Schofield, listening in stunned silence, noticed his breathing had sped up, almost to the point of hyperventilation, so he placed one cautious hand on his back to try calm him.

It didn't seem to help as the other man's voice was raised when he spoke again.

"And damn you," he said, "damn you if between breakfast and chess and you being a fucking idiot I didn't go and fall in love with you."

He stopped suddenly, as if he wasn't sure of what he'd said. For that matter, neither was Shane.

All he was aware of was that they were very close, too close even. That he already had one hand on Jack's back and that one of Jack's hands was coming up to cup his face and slide through his hair, the touch almost reverent.

Their faces were suddenly brought so close in one simultaneous movement but stopped jarringly, the hand in his hair was still, and Jack's eyes were so incredibly blue.

"You know," he said and Schofield felt the words ghost over his face, against his lips, "You're a good listener. Most people would've told me to shut up and kiss them a long time ago."

"Shut up and kiss me," he replied.

When their lips finally crashed together, it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before; rough and distinctly unfeminine. His face burned where stubble was irritating it. He could feel the chaps on his lips as he ran his tongue across them. Cautiously, curiously, he sank his teeth into that lip. Felt them open, felt the moan leak into his own mouth. He slipped his tongue inside the warm cavity and plundered it, tangling with another incessantly strong tongue pushing back against him. Teeth clashed with teeth. Someone moaned again and it could have very well been him, he didn't really care anymore.

Neither one was quite sure how or when, but they somehow pulled themselves together, closing the distance between their bodies, awkwardly half sitting, half kneeling. It's a position they couldn't hold however and they're not sure which one, but one of them, slid over a slightly and knocked over the little chess box with a crash that was loud enough to startle them both back to reality.

"Stop," Shane managed to stutter out, "We've got to stop."

The majority of his body and brain seemed to disagree with him however as he leaned in to steal another quick kiss in between words. It was far more effective when he succeeded in squeezing an arm between their bodies and physically forced them apart. With his hand on Jack's shirt, pushing him away but still hanging on tightly to the fabric, he brought his forehead to rest against Jack's, savouring the contact.

"You do understand the irony of this situation, don't you?" He asked quietly.

Jack groaned at him a little, before dropping to the grass and reclining on his elbows.  
>"You really want to talk right now?" He asked with a roguish smirk.<p>

"Yes," Shane replied, trying to act indignant but giving himself away by laughing when Jack grabbed his collar and pulled him down to the ground beside him.  
>"Or, at least, a little," he modified.<p>

"Fine," Jack said, humouring him. "Yes, it is very funny that they threw you out because you're gay and replaced you with me. It's even funnier that we're kissing on their base. Now, can I continue?"

He wasn't really asking permission as he'd already begun to run his hands slowly up Schofield's torso, feeling each ridge of defined muscle through the thin cotton t-shirt.

Shane agreed entirely, there would be plenty of time to talk later.

When he kissed him again, it was everything the first one wasn't. Soft and careful discovery. They tasted every crevice of each other's mouths and explored the lines of their bodies with surprising tenderness. Shane was particularly delighted to find out that Jack was seriously ticklish on his sides. By running his fingers up and down them with only the slightest pressure he managed to reduce him to a suitably quivering mass and managed to steal his mouth back for a couple of seconds to ask, "What on earth happens now."

Slapping at the hands still teasing him and trying to recover his breath, Jack answered, "I'm no expert but I do believe this is the happily ever after part."

"You're an optimist," Shane retorted as Jack leant down to attack a particularly sensitive spot where Shane's collarbone met the edge of his neck, successfully distracting him. The hands attempting to push him off were at complete odds to the way he had tilted his neck, allowing him better access.  
>"You had better not leave any difficult to explain bruises."<p>

Schofield slapped him across the shoulder as he felt teeth sink in to that spot anyway. No matter how good it felt, it would not be worth it tomorrow if Sanchez, Mother or heaven forbid Rebound saw it.

Jack stopped and leaned up on his elbows again to look at him. Shane took advantage of the momentary lapse, saying, "It was a serious question."

Jack pressed a swift kiss to his lips before rolling off him and standing up, brushing grass off his pants. Without his warm weight, Schofield immediately felt the night's chill. He accepted the offered hand and let Jack haul him up.

"I believe," he said as he brushed a couple of blades of grass out of Schofield's hair, "that generally the next step – or perhaps more often the previous step – is for me to buy you dinner, we decide if this works and if it does, then it's on to the happily ever after."

"Hey," Shane stopped short, playfully indignant, "Why do you get to buy me dinner?"

"Because," Jack retorted, swing am arm across Schofield's shoulders and bringing them close again, "I'm taller than you."

It was true. The extra two inches Jack had on him made Shane fit just about perfectly under his arm.

Where naturally, he dug his fingers into the newly discovered ticklish spot.

"We should go back," he said reluctantly.

One final, hurried kiss and they let go. They allowed their shoulders to brush against each other as they began to walk back to the barracks but as soon as they were within sight of any buildings on the base at all that might potentially contain someone who might see, there was a distinct foot between them. Just in case.

But then again, if someone was only to look closely, they would only need to see the flush in their cheeks, their ruffled hair and the look in their eyes to know exactly what had gone on between them tonight.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Okay, I'm going to stop saying that this is the last update because I've proven to myself that that is blatantly not the case each time! Just be prepared at some point for updates to stop for a while!

Also, when a person suffers a particularly traumatic incident – such as being shot down in a war zone, captured and tortured – one of the most common ways of dealing with it is to compartmentalise it into a different section of the brain, which results in them often being unable to express it in rational words. It's more a collection of raw emotions and visuals that can't really be conveyed. It's fairly difficult to explain, but it's almost a more primal form of memory, one that you can't really understand unless you've experienced it. Also, I highly doubt Schofield would have escaped Bosnia without some sort of PTSD or similar emotional scarring, which is sort of brought up in this chapter.

Finally, this chapter is mostly written from Jack's point of view.

Chapter 11

Jack wasn't sure how he'd got himself into this situation. He could see sunlight just starting to peek through the bottom of the curtains. Not his curtains though. Schofield's curtains. With Schofield himself currently still sleeping against his chest. Eyes closed and unmasked by sunglasses, the scars made for an even scarier sight. Stretching exactly from eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone in a perfectly straight line and meeting at the eyelids without his eyes to separate them. Jack was currently tracing a finger slowly across one of his shoulders. He might have stopped when the other man shifted against him – not wanting to wake him - if the night hadn't already taught him that Schofield was both very difficult to wake up and incapable of sleeping still. Instead, he just pulled the slightly smaller man closer and tried to wish away the morning.

Approaching the barracks the night previous, they had been grateful to see that the light in the common room was off, the foosball tournament obviously over and the marines most likely in bed. All the same, that hadn't stop them from opening the door cautiously and looking around before they actually entered. After all, it wouldn't do for two people who supposedly couldn't stand each other to be caught returning from a late night stroll together.

Caution had been abandoned however, as soon as they were inside the shadowy room. Schofield's hands were tugging at his shirt and his own were tangling in his belt loops. Keeping their bodies joined at as many points as possible; lips, chest, hips; they stumbled recklessly into the room only to damn near crash into a sofa sitting in the middle of the room. It was all they needed to remind them how very dangerous this was if they woke anyone who heaven forbid, came down to investigate the noise and caught them.

In the half-light, he couldn't quite see the expression on Schofield's face when he'd asked if Jack wanted to come upstairs, but based on the hesitancy in his voice he could imagine it was uncertainty with the hint of that rare blush that he was coming to realise, only really occurred around himself.

"I didn't mean it like that," he had continued a little clumsily in the darkness, trying to explain, "I only meant you could just stay, if you want to that is. No pressure or anything."

He had successfully silenced him by claiming his lips back and pressing him towards the stairs, only letting go when they reached the foot of them, not wanting to trip over them and cause a calamity by forcing Schofield to navigate upstairs, backwards and thoroughly distracted. Gently, carefully, he dropped his own hand from where it had been holding the back of Schofield's neck and trailed it down his body before intertwining it with Shane's hand.

He had thought the other man might have pulled away at the unexpectedly intimate contact. Instead, the grip tightened slightly and he felt their calluses sliding against each other. If he had been able to see anything more than the shadow of a cheekbone or the glint of metal rimmed sunglasses, then he would have seen a genuine, if slightly shy, smile spread across Schofield's face.

They had passed the first landing, which led to the dorms where the junior enlisted officers slept. Schofield's room was the first door across from the second landing. He seemed to hesitate at it momentarily, so from behind him, Jack reached out with one hand for the doorknob whilst resting the other on Schofield's hip.

"I can still go back to my own room, no pressure," he said, echoing Schofield's own words, with his lips moving against his neck.

"Just checking you were still okay," he muttered as coherently as he could with Jack still teasing that particular spot on his neck and his thumb running dangerously close to his thigh.

In response, he had pushed open the door and shoved Schofield inside. He had never actually been inside another marine's bedroom before and he was glad to see they were all arranged the same way, bed in one corner, dresser in the other, otherwise Schofield would have hit the dresser and probably knocked himself out which would most certainly have put a dampener on the evening. As it was, he had managed to land mostly on the bed, with his feet still on the floor and propped up on his elbows, looking at Jack with his lips quirked and a single eyebrow raised in that seductively mysterious manner he managed to pull off.

Without even thinking about it, his shirt was on the ground and he was, carefully, leaning over Schofield who pulled himself up to meet Jack's lips, bracing himself with his hands on Jack's hips. Neither could quite believe they had waited so long when this was so incredible. He started at Schofield's chest, wanting so badly to feel the heat of his bare skin without the shirt, skirting his hands across the flat plane of his pectorals and dipping into the spot where his ribs would have met under them before pushing up to his shoulders and down firm biceps, all the way down his forearms until he reached his hands. Sliding his fingers between Shane's, he pulled both arms up and over his head, pinning them to the wall with a single hand. Schofield looked at him perhaps a little curiously but was obviously content to allow Jack to continue his exploration.

"Just don't tie me up," he muttered over Jack's shoulder.

He had no intention of doing so. The other hand that wasn't restraining Schofield's came down to rest on the waistband of his shorts. He thought he might have heard a muffled curse as, instead of pushing into them, he slid his hand up and under the olive green shirt, along obliques taut from the hands held over his head. The skin under his hand felt so amazingly soft and yet with all the hard strength of tensed muscle directly below it. It was like touching silk which bled head against his palm. Slowly, he inched the hand up his body, fingers tripping over every muscle before pausing at the broad chest, taking in details he hadn't been able to appreciate through the shirt. Gently brushing his thumb over a nipple, he felt it contract and harden at the touch. Creeping up, he found the pucker of a scar right above Schofield's heart, which he could also feel thumping fast and strong against his hand.

He turned his gaze away from the body and up to Schofield's face which he was glad to see was delightfully flushed, eyes glazed behind reflective lenses.  
>"Leave those there," he ordered, indicating the arms before bringing his head down to nuzzle at his neck.<br>Waiting until he felt Schofield nod, he abandoned the pale flesh of his neck and dropped his other hand to pull the shirt up and over his head – joining his own on the ground - revealing the body he'd already explored by touch to his sight and it certainly didn't disappoint. There was absolutely no way he could fool himself into thinking this was anything like making out with a girl – not that he could currently think of a single reason he would want to. Now naked to the waist, it was obvious that – had he been in the mood for it – Schofield could have killed him. easily. Other than a tempting line of dark hair which streaked down and into his pants, his chest was entirely hairless and marked with quite a few more scars than the one Jack had already discovered.

As Jack looked at him appreciatively, Schofield, no longer content, it seemed, to play passive, pulled himself further up the bed and upright, leaning his back against the wall and fisted his hands through Jack's belt, dragging him forward and onto his knees, effectively pinning Schofield to the bed and between himself and the wall.

It was then that he made his fatal mistake. So close to Schofield, who had now taken to running his hands across Jack's chest in the same way Jack had already done to him, he brought his own hands up to cup Schofield's face. Brushing one thumb across the slight stubble of his jawline and the other down the slightly crooked line of a nose that had been broken plenty of times, he gently, very carefully, slid his fingers under the dark glasses and across the thickened scar tissue.

Instantly, he felt Shane stiffen beneath him – and not in a good way.

He pulled back immediately, removing the offending fingers and instead resting them on Schofield's thighs. He had tilted his head away and was staring at the ceiling. Jack decided to try a different tactic in hopes of recovering the situation. He placed his hand over a small, thin strip of a scar that sat just above his left hip, before bending over nearly double and pressing his lips to it, causing Shane to look down at him sharply.

"How did you get that?" He asked gently.

For a moment, he thought Shane wasn't going to answer. He had returned to staring at the wall, the floor, anywhere but Jack.

"My Father," he said softly, his voice sounded far away, "used to beat me. That particular one was inflicted with a belt."

"And this one?"  
>He held out Shane's arm, kissing a small circular mark above the elbow.<p>

"Cigarette burn; same person, different weapon."

He brought his lips to the side of his neck to a thin white line, murmuring against the skin, leaving feather-light kisses with each word, "What about this?"

He felt Schofield's hand dig into his shoulder, holding on to him tightly.  
>"Shot by a man I thought was a friend, and healed by a man I thought a murderer."<p>

Jack was beginning to see a pattern here.

He sat up and looked Shane directly in the eyes or, at least, as directly as possible with sunglasses still hiding them. Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his arms and pulled them off, revealing storm-like dark blue eyes. Schofield's hand curled around his neck and drew him forward.

He pressed a kiss against each closed eye, tenderly,

And one more against his lips for good measure.

He was about to ask when Shane kissed him, forcefully, running his hand across the back of his head and using the other to push him over carefully, so that he was lying on his back and Schofield had wrapped his body around him. Gradually taking control, tongues battling for dominance and with Jack's shoulder successfully pinned to the bed, he tore away from Jack's mouth and left a trail of kisses that were almost bites down his neck and onto his chest. Then abruptly, with his head tucked against the crook of Jack's neck, he began to talk.

"1995, in Bosnia," he said as he reached over Jack and rummaged through a drawer beside the bed. Pulling out a very battered photograph, he continued, "I was a pilot."

He handed the photo – of a couple of smiling, carefree, young men, including an unscarred Schofield, standing in front of a plane, wearing old fashioned flight suits and with their helmets held proudly under their arms – to Jack, who stared at it intensely and perhaps a little sadly as Shane continued to tell his story.

"Flying can make you feel invincible, so you do stupid things. I got myself shot down by a bunch of guerrillas with a couple of stingers and a jeep," he said shortly. "Don't ask me how long I spent down there 'cause I can't really remember. It's all a blur of hunger and pain and fear but they caught me in the end."

He took Jack's hand and guided it to the small pockmark he had found before on Schofield's chest.  
>"I got this from a plank of wood with rusty nails. They beat me with it for hours."<p>

He seemed to falter, took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bringing the scars together.

"When they realised that wasn't going to work, they tried to cut my eyes out, so that I'd never spy again. Actually, it worked. I haven't taken an 'information reconnaissance' mission since." He laughed a little to himself.  
>"Then they locked me in a cupboard and left me to bleed."<p>

Jack couldn't help but wince and he was worried that Schofield, hearing it, would say nothing further but his fears were unfounded.

If anything, his voice was stronger when he spoke again.  
>"I don't remember anything after that, just blackness and waking up in a hospital a couple of weeks later. They told me it was Jack Walsh who ordered them to come for me. Apparently the corp were all for leaving me there."<p>

Jack could hear the traces of an old but never quite forgotten anger in his voice. He was starting to understand the Scarecrow. Repeatedly hurt by people he should have been able to trust. He valued loyalty above anything else, but never expected it. He didn't often let people get near to him, because then he made himself vulnerable to them. He had very few close friends, a handful of acquaintances, but virtually no 'just friends' because of it. The man was mysterious, an enigma, not by choice or intent but because he'd simply forgotten how to trust people. How much then, must it have hurt him to have been unceremoniously tossed out by the service he had given his life to. How much courage then, did it take to stand up for himself anyway.

How much then, should Jack value this – whatever _this _was between them.

A sudden, warming, thought struck him. If _this_ was nothing more than the comfort of a warm body, then Shane would never have never let that particular story past his lips. He wouldn't have told him about his father. He certainly wouldn't be lying against him, skin flush against skin, staring off into space with a faint frown marring his face and his hands absent-mindedly drawing patterns across Jack's chest. Whatever _this_ was – Jack was reluctant to accidently over complicate it by giving it a name just yet – he could be fairly sure it actually meant something to Schofield.

He decided to test something. Sliding an arm slowly across Shane's shoulders, he pulled the slightly smaller man close against his chest. Sure enough, as he suspected, he felt the muscles beneath that arm tense. Shane, at least in terms of physical intimacy it seemed, drew the line at being held. He loosened his grip and withdrew the arm. Instead, letting it settle in the small of his back, providing gentle pressure and a sense of intimacy but without the constraint, and felt him relax again.

"Sorry," he had murmured and Jack had felt the vibrations of his chest against his own. "I don't like being restrained."

Jack personally, thought he might find that difficult. After the story, he had to repress the urge to hold him tight and keep him safe from any further damage. Only, a single glance down or one recollection of the things this man had done and he remembered that Shane did not require – or probably appreciate – his protection. Which of course, raised one more question that begged an answer.

"When I joined this unit," he said tentatively, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck too much, "they gave me a whole stack of files to read about the things this team – you – have done. I know about Wilkes, and about Cinc-lock VII and theKkormoran situation, I know about the bounty hunt, about Elizabeth, I even know about that debacle with the president. What I don't know, is how on earth you manage to get back on your feet and convince yourself there's something in this rotten world worth saving?"

He didn't get an answer to that question but it didn't bother him too much, because when he looked down quizzically at Shane, he found that he had fallen asleep. Looking far more peaceful than any hero had a right to, he couldn't bring himself to disturb him. So he carefully wriggled down to a more comfortable position in the cramped single bed and tossed a sheet over them, before shutting his own eyes and resting his head against the mop of dark hair. Thinking to himself, _What a night!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Oops! **Very sorry, I uploaded the wrong chapter! This is the new one. Thanks to DarkHunter for pointing that out to me!

**A/N: **Hiya! Thanks for waiting so patiently for this chapter. I'm afraid I got back from holidays and hit major writers block. I remember where I want this story to get to but not how I was planning on getting it there so I'm improvising plot wise at the moment.

Here's a short but hopefully cute little chapter to get me back in the game. Encouragement would help me get the next one out must faster, pretty pretty please!

Chapter 12

For the first time in a long time, Shane Schofield was awoken neither by the sudden jolt of a nightmare nor the incessant buzzing of the alarm. He savoured the slow return to consciousness. With his eyes still shut he tried to bury a little deeper into the warm bed, noting as he did so the slow pleasant crawl of something soft trailing across his shoulder and that his pillow seemed a rather a bit harder than he recalled.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the bright morning sunlight. As they cleared, without moving his head at all, he found he was looking at an unmistakably sculpted chest with his own hand lying in the middle of it, fingers tangled gently in the downy light-brown hair between the pectorals. He ran his hand down the side of the body coming to rest in the crook of the waist, as he looked up and found Jack's clear blue eyes clouded only slightly with the remnants of sleep.

"Good morning," he said sleepily, propping himself up on one elbow. The shy touch on his shoulder retreated instantly.

"Did I wake you?" Jack asked bashfully. In the light of the morning he seemed unsure, shy even, of how to proceed. "It's just, you were lying on my arm and it was going dead, I tried not to move but-"

Shane cut him off with a lingering press of his lips in a slow but chaste kiss.  
>"Sorry," he said with a lazy grin as he pulled away.<p>

"For what?" Jack replied quietly, not quite meeting his eye. He seemed nervous. Having reached the crux he most wanted to discuss but not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer. He watched the expression on Shane's face flick rapidly from amused affection to confusion, lines appearing above his brow but not losing his smile.

"For sleeping on your arm dumbass," Shane shot back playfully as though it was obvious and relief flooded through Jack. He was suddenly able to much better appreciate the warmth of Schofield's body against him, their legs tangled together beneath the sheets. The way he smiled at him, completely relaxed, with his hair messed up but his eyes shining bright blue in the morning sun. As the old adage goes – and his mother had always set a lot in store by old adages – they say you're in love when you don't want to fall asleep because your reality is finally better than dreams. Funny then that they never mentioned how waking up is even better.

"So not for last night? No regrets?" He asked anyway to banish any lingering doubts for good, tangling their fingers together and not quite meeting his eyes.

Schofield didn't say anything in response immediately. Instead he wrapped both of Jack's hands in his and brought them to his lips, leaning on his elbows with his chest almost flush against Jack's. Looking up at him under his dark eyelashes until he looked back, he said mock seriously, "Not that I can think of."

Jack suspected that using the word 'adorable' in front of Schofield might be a fairly sure way of losing vital body parts but he reserved the right to think it.

He wrested one of his hands back and brought it up to cup the line of Shane's jaw, running his thumb absentmindedly across the slight stubble. As he turned his head to press a kiss into the palm, a look of sudden alarm crossed Schofield's face and he sat up abruptly.  
>"Wait, last night, we didn't-?" He began to ask slightly awkwardly but cut himself off, gesturing between their bodies to make his point clear.<p>

Then it was Jack's turn to laugh at the blush creeping up Shane's cheeks. "No," he said with a smile, "we talked until you fell asleep."

"Ah," was all he managed to say, he wasn't quite sure if falling asleep had been a good or bad thing. Either way, it didn't seem to have done any harm.

As Shane resettled himself in the small bed, pressed against Jack's side, they suddenly heard just outside the door the unmistakable heavy tread of a combat boot going down the stairs. They both startled as the noise brought reality crashing down around their ears. No matter how much at ease they were they couldn't forget they were marines in a marine base where this sort of cavorting was still against the rules, they had been talking far too loud. If they were caught…

For the first time that morning, the smile fell completely from Schofield's face.  
>Jack began to get up; throwing the sheets off and trying to wriggle out but Shane wrapped one firm arm around his chest.<br>"Stay," he said softly, almost breathing the word against Jack's neck. "There are fourteen marines on this floor including you and me, so you've got to at least wait for eleven more to go past before you can sneak out safely anyway. Stay."

He kissed him gently and it was everything he had never thought kissing a guy would be like, soft – minus the stubble – careful and tender. Whatever trouble this was bound to bring upon them, at this present point in time, he really didn't care.

They lay there in silence. Shane pressed against his chest with his head resting in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent that was Jack – like fresh mown grass still with the tang of dew. His own arm stretched protectively across Jack's chest, while Jack's arm was curled around his back, fingers splaying gently below his shoulder blade. He could get used to this, he decided. The feel of the muscular chest beneath his own - nothing soft or curvy, just raw, hard, strength. He even liked the fact that Jack was taller and broader than he was, how they fit together. He'd never been held like that before because any woman in his bed had been the one in his arms and any man that got close enough to get a hold of him usually had murderous intentions. He had been worried he would feel threatened, or worse, nothing; that it would feel just like holding a woman, that he had made a terrifying mistake and that really was as good as it was ever going to get. But his skin buzzed at the contact and he felt safe and comfortable, enveloped in the larger man's frame, so reluctant to get up and so damn right as he pressed a kiss to the nearest part of Jack he could reach – his collarbone. Really, he could get used to this.

As the eleventh and final pair of boots clomped their way down the stairs they started to stir, knowing they had to get up but wanting to hold on to the morning for as long as possible. Where before they had been absolutely still and silent, Jack's hand began to trace small circles across Shane's back and Shane sighed a little against his chest before retrieving his feet from where they were tangled between Jack's warm ones to hit the cool wooden floor. As they sat up simultaneously, Jack slumped against his shoulder. Schofield looked at him affectionately and kissed his forehead, as he patted his thigh and said with as much enthusiasm – and a little extra mischievousness – as he could muster, "Come on sunshine, gotta face the day."

He managed to solicit a small laugh and a smile out of Jack, who looked up at him and tried to hold a straight face.  
>"Don't call me sunshine."<p>

By which point, Schofield, having managed to get up and stay up, was rummaging through a pile of clothed tossed haphazardly over the back of a desk chair. He found the shirt he was looking for, a – hopefully clean – khaki utility t-shirt. As he pulled it on, he quickly shot back,  
>"Sure babe."<p>

What he didn't realise though was that as the shirt slipped over his head, Jack had sauntered up behind him. He nearly jumped when he felt, rather than saw, two hands on his waist.  
>"And here I was," Jack's voice said huskily in his ear, "thinking that you were all quiet and serious. You're gonna be trouble aren't you."<p>

He felt Schofield lean back against him as he swayed their bodies just a tiny amount. He pressed his lips against Shane's temple before dropping to his neck, and again slightly lower. He sank his teeth as hard as he dared into his collarbone. Not wanting to actually hurt him, much, but just enough to leave a nice looking bruise. His placement was good and he knew it. The mark would be below the neckline of Schofield's t-shirt – but only just. He kissed him once more, far gentler, in the spot below his ear before slipping rapidly from the room with a little smirk.

Waiting outside the door, Jack was immensely satisfied to hear only a moment later, as Shane ducked into the bathroom and saw his handiwork in the mirror, a loudly exclaimed "Bastard."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Very little had amused Jack quite so much since his arrival in America, than Shane Schofield trying to act totally cool when he knew fine well that he was completely on edge trying to keep the dark purple bruise from revealing itself. He could see his hands twitching when it was obvious he wanted to keep pulling at the neckline of his shirt, just to make sure it was hidden, but then with a deep breath, his hands would still and his face would relax into its normal mask and unless they knew what they were looking for, the other marines were none the wiser.

Other than the fact that he found the knowledge that Schofield was walking around with the mark Jack had left on his body incredibly sexy, it was proof, proof that he hadn't imagined it; that that man was his. But it was also a secret. Their little secret and now, it was acting as somewhat of a test for their big secret. If nobody saw the mark, if Shane didn't give the game away, then he knew they were safe. That is, if he didn't give the game away himself first.

Schofield had decided that the unit's hand to hand combat skills were sufficient and so, it was time to add a complicating factor into the midst.  
>"Oh come on," Sanchez had moaned when he pulled his Bowie knife from where it was strapped to his thigh. "When do we ever use those? Guns always beat knives."<p>

"Correct," Schofield replied, "A gun is always better than a knife but if your gun has been hit or just plain lost-"

"Or if you're stuck in some godforsaken ice station filled with fucking flame gas," Mother growled.

" – or in a flammable atmosphere, thanks Mother," he continued without pause and Jack realised what it was that made Schofield both an excellent captain and an excellent teacher, his patience.  
>" – or any other situation in which your gun is rendered useless, a knife is a damn sight better than nothing."<p>

"but if your opponent had a gun and you've only got a knife, by the time you get close enough to do any damage he's already shot you," Sanchez continued to protest, so in response Schofield spun on his heels and quicker than the eye could follow, the knife in his hand was suddenly quivering in the middle of a large red X he had taped to a tree some thirty feet away earlier.

"You're a marine Sanchez," he said loudly as he walked over to the injured tree and wrenched his knife free. Turning back to them he said with a wicked smile, "be prepared."

"If you can do that, your enemy's gun doesn't matter. I want to see all of you hitting that mark every time by the end of the day."

Given there was only one target and the dangers of multiple flying knives in close proximity, they took it one at a time. Whilst Astro practised his aim, the remaining marines paired up and moved a little distance away, for safety's sake, to practice their knife-on-knife work. As they wandered away, Jack thought he managed to catch Schofield's eye through the reflective lenses because Shane shot him a slightly sheepish smile before tugging, once again, at his collar to make sure it was straight.

Jack just laughed a little to himself.

With hindsight, it was probably mostly his fault but of all the stupid things to do, Schofield had chosen to practice with Mother and so Jack couldn't help but glance over his way every couple of minutes to make sure she hadn't cut him up into sixty-five little bits. He had taken his sunglasses off and Jack could see the looks of concentration as they pushed their fairly evenly matched skills to the limits.  
>He wondered if Schofield knew he bit his tongue when he was concentrating really hard.<br>He was sure Mother knew that she scowled something terrifying.

Either way, it didn't take long for Shane to realise he was being watched and quickly turned it into a bit of a game. Whenever he caught Jack's eye, he would evade Mother and pull a face at him whilst she was distracted. It didn't really help that Jack was working with Rebound, who did have some actual experience with 'knives in the dark' combat and so proved quite competent. Whenever Schofield distracted him, another small slash would appear somewhere on his body. The cuts were only shallow, mere warnings to pay more attention, but they stung. He was wondering why the hell Shane hadn't made them all blunt their blades beforehand, but he supposed that somewhat defeated the purpose of the exercise.

It was then that it happened. Schofield, trying to concentrate on three things at once - not getting killed by Mother, amuse Jack whilst keeping the hickey hidden - failed. As he lent forward for a particularly vicious swipe at Mother's abdomen, the loose t-shirt gaped open.

At exactly the same time, Rebound, noticing Jack's distraction, opened a large gash above Jack's right eyebrow but even with blood dripping rhythmically past his eye, Jack didn't look away and so Rebound spun around to see what the hell was going on behind him.

What he saw certainly surprised him. Mother, despite Schofield's protests that this was not part of the exercise, had managed to get him in a headlock and was wearing an expression of absolute glee.  
>"What in the name of sweet Mary is that?" She said loudly, with one finger hooked around the collar of his shirt, exposing the bruised flesh for all the world to see.<p>

"That's a hickey if I ain't never seen one before," she exclaimed equally as loudly, answering her own question as she let go of his head but kept a firm hand on his shirt. "Who you been kissing?"

"Nobody," he retorted as he spun out of her grip and slapped her arm away, "It's just a bruise."  
>But by then, everybody else had stopped to look at them. Schofield stared them all down.<br>"Did I say you could stop," he said in his best commanding tone but none of them so much as moved a muscle.

"Fine," he added sternly after a moment, shaking his head, "line up thirty feet from the target. You each get one throw, anybody that does not hit the target will run ten laps of the obstacle course."

He lined them all up, including Jack.  
>"Oh no," he had said under his breath as Jack tried to slip away, "This is your fault, you're not escaping punishment."<p>

Jack allowed himself a private smile. He was fairly sure Schofield was not really angry – actually, he was fairly sure he'd never seen Schofield really angry, nor did he ever want to – only being firm but he was rather enjoying the little demonstration anyway.

With his silver sunglasses back on, he cut an icy picture and Jack knew sure as hell not to cross him, but he also knew that behind those glasses, his eyes were probably twinkling and he was having fun.

Skip was the first to miss. She was clearly nervous and overcompensated by throwing the knife way too hard. It might've been a great throw but she missed the target by a clear twenty feet.  
>"You wouldn't," she began to say. By the quirk in his lips she knew it was hopeless but she ploughed on anyway, "but I'm a girl."<p>

He lowered the glasses a little, to reveal the tops of the scars and just a hint of deep blue eyes.  
>"I'm not going to treat you any different in my team just because you're a woman, hit the track."<p>

"It's gonna be dark soon," she tried one last time.

"Well you'd best run quick then."

She shot him a dark look before taking off towards the obstacle course. In the distance, he was sure he could hear her cursing him and he had to admit, he liked her spirit.

Bigfoot was the next to miss and he knew better than to argue. He just trudged off to follow Skip, his long steps catching up with her vanishing figure fairly quickly.

Meanwhile Sanchez, who was just in front of Mother, was now at the head of the queue. He threw the knife hard and deadly and it landed smack bang in the middle. Schofield nodded approvingly. As Sanchez went to retrieve the knife and bring it back to the next in line, Mother managed to grab Schofield's attention back by hissing at him, "If that's not a hickey then I'm your great auntie Josie."

In reply, Schofield took the knife from Sanchez and offered it to Mother, handle first, saying, "Your turn then Auntie."

She took the knife but not the point.  
>"Seriously," she continued, "Did he hurt you? Do I have to kill him?"<p>

"Mother," he replied clearly exasperated, "Just throw the damn knife."

She began to line up her aim, even stretching her arm back for the throw but then suddenly dropping it again and turning back to him.  
>"It is a 'he' right?"<p>

Nobody but Mother was ever that bold to push Schofield that far and she only got away with it because – well, because she was Mother. But not this time.  
>Jack thought for a moment that he might actually lose his cool with her but instead, he just crossed his arms across his chest and stepped right in close to her, so his head was just about level with her ear. Despite the fact that she had half a head on him, the effect was still intimidating and Jack made sure to file that one away for further use should the need ever arise.<p>

"Mother," he said quietly and deadly, "shut up and throw the knife or you will run laps until the day you die."

She threw the knife and, with a quick kiss to his forehead to show no hard feelings, she dashed out of the compound.

When nobody else missed, he dismissed them all for the day and they variously made their way back to the mess, because they were hungry, and the shower block, because they were smelly. With the exception of Book II, who went to his own apartment, and Shane and Jack, who went to the barracks. They too were smelly and hungry but the officers' bedrooms were thankfully equipped with a small ensuite and Shane could cook. Jack had seemed a little out of it on the walk back and muttered something about a shower when they arrived. So Shane, rifling through the single cookbook in the barracks, decided to whip them both up something for dinner.

It was fifteen minutes later, when he realised that he still hadn't heard the water start. The pipes in the old barracks building were so noisy you couldn't have a shower without the whole building knowing about it. In fact, it was an unspoken rule that nobody showered after eleven pm or before five in the morning on pain of death. So when Schofield didn't hear the familiar gush of the water through the pipes, something about it just felt off and he went upstairs to investigate.

He knocked gently on the door to Jack's room and when there was no answer to that, he called his name quietly.

There was no response and he definitely couldn't hear the sound of the shower running. He hesitated for only a moment, before cautiously pushing the door open and stepping into Jack's bedroom.

He found Jack sitting on the floor of the bathroom, leaning against the cool tiled wall with his knees drawn up and his arms and head resting against them. He had managed to strip down to his boxers and although the weather had been warm, he was practically shivering. The cut above his eye was still bleeding freely.

"Hey," he said gently but Jack didn't look up at him. He wasn't sure what to do, Book was always better at fixing people's problems than he was, especially emotional ones, but he suspected that whatever was bothering Jack was probably a problem that he alone was uniquely placed to be able to help with. At least, as far as he knew, he was the only one in the building who really understood how Jack was feeling right now.

In the end, he didn't say anything else; just went and sat beside the other man until he was ready to talk. He might not always know what to say but he knew when to listen.

It took a moment but Jack found his voice.  
>"I can honestly say that I've never, ever, felt this way before," he said surprisingly strongly, "And it scares me a little."<p>

Shane just gave him the look, one eyebrow raised until Jack amended his statement.  
>"Okay, it scares me a lot. Happy?"<p>

He laughed a little at him but not unkindly and placed one hand on the other's shoulder, sensing rather than knowing that he had more to say.

"I've spent my whole life," he said slowly, as though each word of the confession was painful, "trying to wish away these feelings. Hoping and praying that somewhere out there was some girl, someone, who could fix me," He cut himself off to look at Schofield, always so patient, and seemed to notice the hand on his shoulder for the first time. Gently, he lifted it off and twined his fingers with Shane's before he continued.  
>"And there you were but you don't seem to realise how incredible you are. Watching you today, you're such a good leader and they all look up to you."<p>

"The last good man in the world," he added with a smile.

Shane's thoughts briefly flew to the last man that had said that to him.  
>He had thrown him out a window.<br>But he just shook his head quickly and it was gone, just Jack in front of him, smiling.

"Your people really love you," he said seriously, "and I've got some seriously big boots to fill."

At that, Schofield actually laughed aloud.  
>"And that's really what caused you to have a minor meltdown half-naked in the bathroom?"<p>

"Nope," Jack replied, laying his head on Shane's shoulder. "It just, it scares me how strong my feelings are for you. Strong enough that I can't, or don't even want to push them away. Everything's changed, I feel like I don't recognise my life anymore. I mean, here I am, having a conversation about feelings for a bloke, with a bloke, in a bathroom, in my underwear." He snuffed a laugh.  
>"And it's got to be a secret. "<br>"And Mother's going to kill me if I hurt you," he finished.

"Right," Shane replied with a smile; "Where to begin? I'm glad you don't want to push away how you feel about me and I'm glad we're having this conversation, even in the bathroom and in your underwear. I know it feels like it, but really nothing about your life has changed. If anything, you're more free just to live it now. I hate keeping secrets too but that's just the way things have to be for now and I'm sorry, I don't think I can do anything about Mother," he said in one breath.

Fingers playing absentmindedly with Jack's, he suddenly noticed a warm, wet sensation on his shoulder. He quickly looked down, expecting maybe to see Jack crying but instead there was a small, crimson stain spreading across his shirt.  
>"Ah shit," he said abruptly, jumping up and dislodging Jack from where he was leaning against him.<p>

"Sorry," Jack said apologetically, "Didn't realise I was bleeding on you."

"What? No," Schofield's voice came back to him from where he was now rifling through the medicine cabinet above the small basin.  
>"I'm sorry I forgot you were still hurt. Do you have any steri-strips?"<p>

With the found item in hand, he crouched down on his haunches and gently applied the small, white bandage to the gash. He was careful but it didn't stop it from stinging and Jack from wincing.  
>"Sorry," he said, wincing with him.<p>

Jack smiled back mischievously.  
>"You gonna kiss it better?" he teased.<p>

"Well," Shane replied with a grin, "I don't think it'll need stitches or anything, but maybe just for good measure." As he spoke, he held Jack's jaw and pulled his head towards him, planting a kiss right on the bandage. He pulled away but didn't let go, saying "I'm starving, think you can actually get in the shower now?"

As he left, he heard Jack call back to him wickedly, "Do you want to join me?"

Shaking his head and smiling to himself as he headed back down the stairs, he found in the kitchen a sight he was entirely unprepared for. Book II leaning on the counter, pale as a ghost and looking ready to cry.

He thought to himself, '_one crisis averted and another one appears;'_ but aloud, he said "Hey man, what's the matter?"

The last thing he was expecting was for the younger man to walk over woodenly before collapsing against him sobbing. He could do nothing except wrap his arms around him and try and mutter consoling things. Naturally, it was that moment that Jack chose to come bounding down the stairs, clean and freshly dressed.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Okay, here's a test of how well you were paying attention! I think I mentioned in the very first authors note of my very first story, that I personally reckon Book II and Juliet Janson had real chemistry in Area 7 and so, I'm going to take a couple of liberties with the canon and decide that they are in fact, a couple. I think Book II is actually my favourite character to write.

Also, boys/men can keep growing until their mid, even to late twenties. Seriously. Just keep that little fact in mind.

I think I'm far too fixated on practicalities. Like, did you know that when a person dies their body empties itself of any remaining "waste products?" So unless Schofield carries a spare change of underwear around with him everywhere, and I mean, everywhere, he's got himself into a rather messy situation twice now.

Also, I've never been in a situation that required me to wear a wetsuit (I have a medical condition that means I can't get cold or wet) so I wouldn't know what you wear underneath one but I'm guessing it's probably not your underwear. Which means logically that the whole gang were running around Ice station with no knickers on.

See, fixated.

One of the other things I'd always wondered about was what Schofield did with the engagement ring, presuming that is that he had bought one seeing as he was planning on proposing in under a month in Scarecrow. Obviously he didn't need it after that, so what did he do with it? And so this chapter was born…

For the wonderful Miss Green Eyed Sparrow!

Chapter 14

"Shane," Jack called out only a second before he appeared. Schofield decided he would be forever grateful that he didn't appendix a 'babe' or similar term of endearment to it.

Book looked up immediately. After all, he'd never heard either of them exchange a civil word. Hell, he didn't even realise Jack knew Schofield's first name.  
>And maybe he didn't want to get caught in the arms of a known homosexual.<p>

As Book II hurriedly wiped away any trace of tears, Schofield was left standing stunned. Jack, thankfully, was faster on his feet and said, "I was thinking, maybe I could run the exercises tomorrow? Gotta start sometime."

"Yeah, sure thing," Schofield replied nonchalant, with one hand on the back of his neck.  
>"I'm all out of ideas anyway."<p>

"Cool, well, I'll be going then," Jack said as he left the room as fast as he'd came, "phone calls to make and all."

Book II looked like he wanted to say something to him but he was already gone. So Schofield reached out one comforting hand to clasp his shoulder, wondering when it was that Book had become taller than him. He was about to ask what on earth the problem was but Book got his words out first.

"It's Juliet," he said falteringly, "She's pregnant."

It took him a moment to process the words and their significance.  
>"Pregnant?" He repeated, "As in a baby?"<p>

"No," Book replied sourly, "As in an elephant."

"Hey," Shane managed to grab Book around the shoulders at arms-length. He was trying to get the other man to look at him but it wasn't really working, "Hey, That's good news. Great news!"

He immediately realised his potential mistake and backpedalled, asking the question every guy never wants to hear. If the answer is yes, you've messed up because you implied there was a chance the answer was no. You're screwed if the answer is yes and they want it to be no and you're doubly screwed if the answer is no and they want it to be yes.  
>"It is your baby?"<p>

And Book snapped back instantly, "Of course it's my baby."

"So what's the problem?"

Book sunk into one of the battered chairs next to the kitchen Island, as Schofield, figuring he probably needed it, passed him a beer.  
>"I should be happy," he began to talk. "I should be excited. Lord knows she is but her family is real traditional. They're not going to be happy and I don't want them to make her unhappy too."<p>

"We'll have to get married but I can't afford a wedding. Hell, I can't even afford a ring. How am I supposed to support a family? What have I done to my kid?"  
>He looked up at Schofield as though he somehow held the answers and Shane could see the fear etched in every line of his face. He took his sunglasses off and laid them on the table.<p>

Then suddenly, it struck him.

"Wait here," he said as he disappeared upstairs to his room. Book II sipped his beer in silence until he came back with a small black box clutched tightly in his hand. Shane hadn't looked at this box in over a year now but he knew the time was right. He popped it open and Book II gazed in awe at the diamond solitaire ring that sparkled inside. It was elegant and beautiful and Shane said softly, "take it."

When Book looked up at him, his mouth was open and he was shaking his head vigorously.  
>"I can't," he said, seemingly lost for words.<p>

Schofield just placed the box on the table and slid it across to him.  
>"I mean it," he said firmly, "Think of it as a wedding present. If her parents are that traditional, they'll probably want to pay for the wedding anyway and trust me when I tell you, that having lots of money does not, a good father, make."<p>

"You do want to marry her, right?" He added questioningly after a moment of silence and Book II looked up sharply.

"Of course I do," he replied, "I love her and she's having my baby. What more of a miracle could I ask for?"

He broke off but Shane could tell there was something else just on the tip of his tongue if he would wait for it.

When he spoke, it was so quiet that Shane had to strain to hear it.  
>"I just wish my mom could be here."<p>

At once, Schofield knew exactly the right thing to say, slowly and surely so that every word really hit.  
>"I bet they're looking down on you right now and I'm sure they're mighty proud. You're going to make a great dad."<p>

It almost looked like Book was smiling now and he reached out to fiddle with the small black box still sitting between them.  
>"You were really going to ask her to marry you?" He said, "Why?"<p>

Schofield took a deep breath before he answered that question.  
>"Because," he said thoughtfully, "I knew I could make her happy and I figured one of us deserved to be."<p>

"I still can't take this," Book II replied, indicating the ring.

"God, please do," Shane said quickly and Book II could see the shards of pain still lingering in his eyes. The ring was the last shred of his old life and once it was gone, he could finally close that chapter and move on. Just because he didn't really want to sleep with her, didn't mean he hadn't loved her with every fibre of his being. It was still confusing and painful and he wanted to find some sense of closure. He thought she would have wanted him to as well, and if the ring was going to a good home, that was an added bonus. He really wanted Book II and Juliet and little Book III to have it.  
>"It's not like I can use anyway," he added as somewhat of an afterthought. "It wouldn't fit on-"<p>

He came so damn close to finishing that sentence, semi lost in thought and Book's ears pricked up immediately. With a smile eerily reminiscent of Mother's, he said, "Wouldn't fit on who?"

Before Schofield could so much as move or regret exposing the once innocent Book II to all of Mother's whiles, of which he had obviously proven a quick but silent learner, he had one hand pulling at his neckline to get an eyeful of the supposed "bruise."

"Whoa," Book II exclaimed with a smile, "That is one hell of a fine bite. Whoever gave you that had serious intent."

"I told you, it's a bruise," Schofield replied a little too quickly, "I walked into another door."

"Well, unless your door has teeth…" Book shot back and Shane knew he was screwed, "I'd say you're lying. Who is he?" He waited expectantly for the plausible but fake explanation that he was sure he would produce but when Schofield didn't even try to deny it or defend himself, Book II couldn't help but laugh at the blush spreading across his cheeks. Poking his friend playfully in the ribs, he said "You can't even say he's nobody cause he ain't nobody to you."

Schofield just sat there and took it as Book II variously danced and poked and teased his way around him, with as many variations of 'You've got a boyfriend,' he could think of in a singsong voice.  
>The thought 'And he's going to have a child,' briefly crossed Schofield's mind. But at least he had managed to cheer Book up.<p>

What he said aloud, as he stood up and tried to shepherd Book towards the door and slipped the box containing the ring into his pocket was "Come on, you have a pregnant girlfriend to get home to remember."

He finally managed to get the other man out the door when he suddenly turned back to him, face lit up like a kid at Christmas.  
>"I just realised," he said, "I know something Mother doesn't."<p>

Shane just shook his head in affectionate exasperation.  
>"Good night Book," he said firmly but with a smile as he shut the door in his face.<p>

He waited until he saw Book II's figure pass the window and out of the barracks before he bolted up the stairs, stopping in front of the door to Jack's room to hopefully recover his decorum. He pushed the door open gently but Jack, crashed out on his bed with his nose stuck in a book, didn't notice him.

'_Going to have to work on observational skills, then_,'he noted as he leant in the frame with his arms crossed and a smile playing across his face.  
>"Hey there handsome," he said after a moment and took great pleasure in watching the book fly out of his hands as the man in question sat suddenly bolt upright.<p>

"Shit, you scared me," Jack replied, with a hand on his head and an easy, lopsided grin.

"Book's gone," he said simply but with the expression of a man plotting something, "but he might've worked it out."

"Not who," he added hastily, "just that I'm seeing someone. In which case, I thought it quite improper that I haven't actually taken you out yet. So get your civvies on and I'll meet you outside the front gates in ten minutes or so. I'm _still _starving."

And with that, he was gone. Unfortunately for Jack, who was already half asleep, his brain was having trouble keeping up but he couldn't deny he was really hungry. As though it could read his thoughts – if stomachs can read thoughts – his stomach chose to remind his of precisely how hungry it was by making a loud and very unflattering noise.  
>"Wait," he called out and Schofield's head reappeared around the door, "What?"<p>

"I'm taking you out to dinner," Shane explained at a slightly more sedate pace so Jack could follow, "So get dressed and go to the front gates. I'll meet you there because I've got to pick up the car, assuming that you didn't bring one from Australia, and we can't walk together anyway."

"Ten minutes," he added with a smile and a flick of his eyebrows and was gone again.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out. I wrote the first thousand words of it but then my computer crashed and I hadn't saved it… very demoralising.  
>Then I got distracted by rediscovering John Paul and Craig.<br>Then I discovered this incredible thing called a social life.  
>And then there was a small incident with alcohol poisoning.<br>All in all, a busy few weeks and a lesson learnt the very hard way: if you're 5ft 2 ½ and weigh 50 kilograms, drinking to keep up with your 90kg male friend is a probably not your best idea. But I'm all better now, and after three days' worth of hangover, I feel relatively human again.

On a happier note, I still can't remember where the plot of this story was supposed to go but I've been doing some brainstorming and this story now has some direction to it again! I know where it's going and honestly, I think I'm happier with this plot than whatever it was before I forgot it... We're heading towards the end, probably in the vicinity of three to five more chapters (but I won't guarantee that or it'll turn into another ten.)

My own slight obsession with classic cars comes through a little in this chapter but I always thought Schofield would be a classic car sort of guy anyway, they're just so classy and sexy and incredible! Also, this chapter is pretty fluffy.

One last thing, It's my 19th birthday today (just thought you should know) and I told my parents I wanted a Bertie.

But reviews would be almost as good.

Chapter 15

Perhaps he should have asked for more time.

Normally, ten minutes would be more than sufficient time to get ready. In typical military fashion, Schofield had this routine down to an art. Three minutes in the shower, though he could afford four if he was prepared to run. Another three to dry and dress with no time wasted on hair. With a spare minute to look for lost sunglasses – he was prepared to swear they grew legs during the nights and found new places to hide themselves every morning – he was out the door and usually, still the first one there.

Only this evening, he had hit a significant stumbling block. It had been a long time since he'd really had to think about what he was going to wear, let along choose clothes for himself. After all, the marines have a uniform for every occasion and then some. Hell, he had never actually worn a suit in his life because his dress blues fit that bill perfectly.

Shane could total it up pretty quickly. He owned a single pair of very well worn in jeans. A couple of pairs of shorts, the odd warm jumper to cope with the varying weather of Washington D.C. and a variety of t-shirts in black, white and the various shades of grey in between.  
>And of course, the bomber jacket he'd had since flight school.<p>

He couldn't see a problem with that. His wardrobe was designed to match the regulation military dresser stashed in the corner of his room – miniscule. Only now, he wasn't going to be a marine much longer and he could no longer fall back on the comforting familiarity of marine rules and regulations. It felt strange, allowing his long downtrodden and denied individuality back out again. Like a child, learning to walk on its own; and this was only the first tentative steps.

Not since leaving college, had anybody asked him what he wanted to wear, though now the opportunity had presented itself, the choices were remarkably underwhelming. It was jeans, jacket and a white t-shirt, or jeans, jacket and a black t-shirt. Neither of which he felt were really choices, nor were they quite suitable for a date.

And then, he remembered.  
>For his last birthday, Libby had bought him a shirt. She was sick of him always taking her out wearing either the white button down shirt that went under his dress blues, or 'that damn jacket' as she often called it. The shirt was dark blue. A dark inky blue like the evening sky.<br>"To match your eyes," she had said.

He hadn't had many chances to wear it though because she had deployed to Afghanistan a little more than a month later. He wasn't sure what the rules were governing wearing clothes your deceased girlfriend bought you on a date with your new whatever-the-hell Jack was to him. No matter what Book II said, there was no way Shane Schofield was using the word boyfriend.  
><em>yet<em>.

He wasted nearly thirty seconds of his rapidly dwindling ten minutes on deciding. In the end, he figured that there probably weren't enough people who had been in that particular situation for there to be steadfast rules about it; and besides, she would probably have smiled if she knew he was wearing it.  
>'Blast it,' he thought as he reached for the shirt.<br>It was the best he could do. It had buttons and in his book, that made it suitable for going out in. He left it untucked over his jeans, hoping it looked casual but nice.

Only, the dilemma didn't end there. Of the grand total of three pairs of shoes that he owned, the shiny black pair was probably too fancy but his rather grubby sneakers weren't fancy enough and combat boots were out of the question. So he grabbed the nice shoes and just hoped like hell.

Now, he was undeniably late but he still managed a quick glance at himself in the mirror as he passed.  
>He almost didn't recognise himself.<br>His hair was far longer than the permitted one centimetre marine buzz cut and stuck up in disordered spikes, still damp from the quickest shower of his life.  
>Libby, as always, was right. The shirt fit him like a glove, and it did match his eyes. He wondered for a moment where the Scarecrow had gone. The reflection in the mirror looked like the boy he had been, not the marine he had become but it only took one glance at his face for the illusion to shatter. The line of his jaw was set with rigid self-discipline, there were lines on his face to match the cares his life had brought him and then there were the eyes.<br>He felt almost uncomfortable in his own skin, like an old friend he'd nearly forgotten.

If not for the eyes – five years on and they still didn't feel like his – he might have accounted himself handsome.  
>As it was, he just shrugged on his sunglasses – a favourite pair of classic Oakley's – and flew out the door.<p>

Schofield couldn't remember ever feeling quite this jittery as he pulled his car – a 1980's original ford Capri mkIII - to a stop just around the corner from the front gates of the military barracks, where a figure was semi-hidden in the shadows. Jack at least, it seemed, had the common sense to not stand blatantly in front of the gates for all the world to see. When he let himself into the passenger seat with his jaw dropped and an exclaimed, "Whoa," Schofield knew this was going to go just fine. He wasn't jittery because he was a marine who knew he shouldn't be doing this. Tonight, he was just going to be a bloke on a first date with first-date nerves.

"Thanks," he replied, looking over at Jack, who still looked stunned. Cars were definitely something he could talk about and this particular car, more than most. "I bought it as a wreck and fixed the whole damn thing up with my own two hands. Took me about three years to source all the parts and do the work but I reckon it was worth it."

"Grease monkey," Jack replied with a grin and a playful shove, managing to elicit a genuine smile in return.

With its low, curved body and long, sleek lines, it was in Shane's opinion, one of the sexiest cars of all time and a workhorse to boot. His blood, sweat and tears had gone into making it roadworthy again and it was his pride and joy. For sure, Libby had liked it but Jack, he could tell by the way he was running his hands along the leather trim sideboards, appreciated it.

They didn't talk most of the way there. Jack was distracted by the car, Shane was distracted by Jack and feeling inexplicably shy. Now that he had got to this point, he really didn't want to fuck it up. If Jack caught him sneaking glances at him whilst they were stopped at various traffic lights, then he didn't say so. Naturally, Jack was sneaking his own glances in return only when they were moving and Schofield was, mostly, focusing on the road. They managed to keep that up most of the way there until just before they turned onto the Chesapeake and Ohio canal, when both their eyes flicked up at once. Caught, they both blushed and laughed, realising that no matter how old and experienced you become, no one – not even marines – are immune from flirting like shy young schoolgirls and that there was nothing wrong with that.

Shane was taking them to Georgetown, arguably one of the trendiest and most expensive areas in Washington D.C. but that wasn't why he liked it. Situated right on the canal and full of tiny, winding historic laneways, if you knew where to look – past the large flashing lights and upper class restaurants - it was full to the brim of hidden gems. Including, as Schofield found a park and tried to shepherd Jack down one such laneway, a tiny Italian restaurant with garish orange walls and the best Linguini in clam sauce he had ever eaten.

He hadn't been there in over a year but as he ducked his head under the low doorframe and took Jack's hand in his, a loud and familiar voice called, "Darling! Where you been? Where's your girl?"  
>Teresa, the busty proprietor who barely came past his elbows, immediately appeared in his view whilst her husband, a cheerful, balding man by the name of Luigi, stuck his smiling face out from the kitchen and waved. Luigi's English was non-existent and Schofield's Italian was little better, but somehow they managed. He was impressed they remembered him but then again, one of the main reasons he loved this place was that it felt like one giant family anyway. Which was perhaps why he felt strangely nervous as he held Jack's hand – still clasped in his – up and said clearly with only a hint of sadness, "No girl, not any more. Can we have a table round the back?"<p>

Teresa was silent as she led them to a quiet table tucked in the corner but as they sat, she turned to Schofield with a full smile and a cheeky nudge of her shoulder. "Why you not hold his chair for him?" She said, "He's handsome."

"You both handsome," she added, placing a large kiss on the side of his head.

As she bustled off, Shane turned slightly sheepishly back to Jack.  
>"So," he said shortly, placing his arms crossed on the table in front of him and the conversation just flowed from there.<p>

They talked about sport. Shane tried to explain the rules of gridiron but Jack insisted that anybody who played contact sport wearing shoulder pads and helmets was a wimp. Real men play rugby union.  
>Crazy men play Aussie Rules.<br>Shane was prepared to concede however, that he could see the advantages of a game in which the players wore singlets and the shortest, tightest pair of shorts they could find and in return, Jack did agree to teach him the basic rules of cricket.

They talked about politics. It was after all, election year and the marines had managed to push through Jack's American citizenship a good bit quicker than usual, meaning he had to work out very quickly exactly what was the difference between a democrat and a republican. As for Shane, he had the dilemma of who to vote for when you know the current president personally – if saving his life counts as 'knowing,' – and happen to think he's a very nice bloke but still disagree with his conservative political stand.

They talked about cars and then talked about cars some more.

It wasn't until nearly midnight, when the restaurant had closed and they were walking along the canal in the descending night cool, that the talk turned to more serious matters such as family.

"Have you told them yet?" Schofield asked quietly. The still night carried his voice and although they were alone – certainly not a marine in sight – there was a clear foot between them.

Jack shook his head in response, saying, "I keep meaning to every time I call home but somehow-"

"-It never feels like quite the right time," Shane finished.

"Exactly, it's not the easiest thing to just drop into conversation." Jack agreed readily, "Have you told your parents?"

At that, Schofield stopped dead and turned away from him, leaning up against the canal wall. Ever since he was little he had loved the water. Water and sky offered freedom so a carrier ship had seemed like the perfect escape for him. After his accident, the ground beneath his feet felt too solid. He felt chained to it. Although for the most part, he was used to it nowadays, every now and then, that feeling of being trapped would overwhelm him again for a moment.

"No," he said shortly, staring at his reflection in the water, "They're dead. I haven't told my grandparents 'cause I don't want them going the same way. My Nan would have a heart attack if I told her."

Jack stepped up beside him so that their shoulders were touching. He could've reached out just an inch further to slide his hand between Schofield's, which were clenched together.  
>"You told Book that you thought his parents would be proud of him," he said slowly, "I think your family is going to be pretty proud of you too."<p>

Shane turned to look at him, half quizzical, half laughing.  
>"You were listening?" He asked.<p>

"Only a little," Jack replied with a roguish smile. He was fairly sure Schofield would pull away, they were after all in a public place, but he leant forward to kiss him anyway. He intended just a quick peck but Shane didn't pull away at all, rather drawing him into it – fuck the public. It was well over a minute later before either of them pulled back, the need for oxygen becoming rather critical.

"Come on," Shane said, reaching out for Jack's hand with red lips and a smile, "We should go home."

Even though it was well past midnight and the barracks looked deserted, all the well behaved marines in bed, Schofield dropped Jack outside the gates for cautions sake.  
>This time, he knew exactly what to do.<br>He kissed him, long and hard and lingering. He wondered if he'd ever get sick of this feeling.

Abso-freaking-lutely not.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** This note bears absolutely no relevance to this story whatsoever so feel free to skip it!

When I first sat down to write Confessions, I had two ideas (actually, I had a dozen different ideas but only two of them really stuck with me.) The whole premise of confessions was that Schofield, as a character, is almost too perfect. There had to be something hidden and I wanted to work out what that could be. The other ideas ranged from the absurd - perhaps he trained as a professional singer or dancer before joining the marines – to the ridiculous – perhaps he was brought up by homeless gypsies/hippies in some remote country. Not joking, I did consider both those options! But based on my research into the marines, there were two ideas that struck me as plausible.

That he was a single dad. I really liked this idea based off his interactions with the various kids that appear in MR's books. Also, single parents are not allowed to enlist in the armed services in America, hence why it seemed a plausible secret.

That he was gay. I don't think I really need to explain why he would have to stay silent about that.

Obviously, I eventually chose the second option because I felt I had more of a personal connection to that storyline and so would find it easier to write. I did briefly consider combining the two but decided that would be waaaay too soap opera!

At some point, I think I will post at least a one shot of the first option because it still intrigues me. It will be non-slash, a little present for the Schofield/Gant shippers of which there are (naturally) many. I would like to clarify that I definitely do ship Schofield/Gant but her death just opened up a whole realm of possibilities. Oops, spoiler. I hope I'm doing okay tying in their relationship with the relationship dealt with in this story.

However, of late, I must admit I've been pretty troubled and just in a fairly dark place. Writing these last couple of chapters has been really hard. On the brighter side, a new story has been developing in my mind which does combine both of those elements (and two new OC's; one that I really love and another that I love to hate) in a dark and twisted tale which reflects the mindset with which it was written. Pairing wise it will definitely be a Schofield/OMC (the one that I love to hate) and depending on the length, it could even have elements of past Schofield/OFC (the other one, the nice one) and Schofield/Gant, though not simultaneously, as well as a really nice Gant/OFC (Same nice one) friendship. I'll warn you right now, it's dark. Really dark, centred around domestic abuse.

It's not currently listed on my profile because I thought I'd test the waters here and gauge your response before committing myself to writing it. I know I'm a terrible review scab but please do let me know your thoughts because I love to hear them!

Okay, so after that ludicrously long note, here's the actual chapter.

Chapter 16

Slowly but surely, Schofield started handing over the reins of the unit to Jack. The first step was letting him run the exercises and as promised, he had planned something spectacular. Realising that nearly half the unit – Rebound, Book II, Skip and himself - were not HALO qualified, Jack had somehow managed to arrange the three days training and practice jumps required to earn it. High Altitude Low Opening jumps were dangerous, if you were going to die in an accident as a soldier, there was a fairly high chance it would be because of a HALO gone wrong, and so the preparations were rigorous. Since over half of all HALO drops land in water because of its advantages in covert warfare, they started each morning with a gruelling three mile swim in the specially designed deep dive prep pool that mimicked the conditions they might expect to encounter in the event of a sea landing.  
>By which they meant it was a battle against the nigh on impossible currents and fucking freezing.<p>

As well as the physical training to prepare their bodies – they had spent all of the previous afternoon jumping off a six meter high tower onto crash mats to learn proper landing techniques and how to avoid crush injuries from impact – there were also many obstacles to overcome in preparing mentally to throw oneself out of a plane with the ground below you as little more than a speck and in altitudes so high that a single unassisted breath of the surrounding air could kill you. The day before that, they had spent in practice thirty-thirty jumps; which involved jumping without a parachute from a helicopter flying at thirty knots only thirty feet above sea level. While it sure as hell wasn't the same, the rush of adrenaline still helped.

And then of course, they all had to learn or relearn how to properly use the life-sustaining equipment that would allow them to free fall at terminal velocity in an unbreathable atmosphere at temperatures of less than minus fifty below Fahrenheit.  
>There was the pre-breather that they would need to breathe for up to forty-five minutes before the jump – 100 per cent pure oxygen to remove all trace of nitrogen from the bloodstream.<br>There was the oxygen tank and mask itself to breath during the drop – obviously if those weren't damn perfect, they were in deep shit.  
>And then there was trying to change between them without allowing the return of any nitrogen into the bloodstream causing decompression sickness and potential death.<p>

All just a walk in the park really.

They debated the advantages and disadvantages of jumping in polypropylene wetsuits – more likely to get frostbite – versus jumping in as many warm clothes as was safe – more likely to drown. In addition, they were strictly sworn off alcohol, cigarettes and any medication they might be on which could lead to hypoxia. Although they weren't necessarily happy about it, especially the alcohol, you didn't need to be a genius to realise that falling unconscious at thirty thousand feet would be fatal. So they returned home each night tired and grumpy but excited as all hell for the upcoming final jump.

All that is, except for Shane and Jack.

Whilst the need for secrecy was inspiring in them an impressive creativity, running on the excitement of a new relationship and the adrenaline of keeping it a secret, they were also becoming reckless. At first they had been clever, either sneaking out whilst everyone else was distracted or asleep. Once, they even managed to leave - together – in plain sight. Schofield said he was going out for the evening and Jack had piped up that he needed to go into town as well, could he grab a lift?

Shane was impressed – even if he did say so himself – with what an accomplished set of actors they were becoming. The question was phrased with appropriate nonchalance and Schofield had paused whilst pulling on his jacket, as though thinking hard about the answer.

"Sure," he said gruffly, indicating towards the door. "I'm leaving now so you'd better hurry."

Schofield was both amused and only slightly concerned as Book kept shooting him knowing glances as they walked out the door. After all, the man was smart and, Schofield recalled, he knew he was seeing someone and how he felt about Jack. It wouldn't take much to put two and two together. Perhaps they weren't being as clever as they thought they were. They were only three feet away from the barracks when his phone had buzzed with a message from Book II.

_Have a nice night,_ it read  
><em>and don't let your bf see you with another bloke.<em>

They had to run after that, afraid that someone would see the way they were hanging on to each other, laughing too hard.

Sometimes, when they were feeling particularly brave or careless, they even managed to steal moments in dark and quiet corners under the pretence of trying to organise a unit.  
>Because after all, everybody knows that the best kept secrets exist in the open.<p>

The morning of the jump itself, was a real wake-up call however, of the very real dangers of getting caught. It was breakfast, the only time of the day when they could reliably spend some time together alone without elaborate schemes or sneaking about. Courtesy of an unexpected cold snap – which was almost certainly going to complicate the jump – Schofield was attempting to cook a hot breakfast consisting of oatmeal and little else. Not helped by the fact that Jack's warm body was currently pressed flush against his back, his hands on his waist and his lips on his neck.

He did try to slap him with the wooden spoon he was using to stir the pot when he felt Jack's lips graze at his favourite spot on Schofield's collarbone but that proved completely ineffective.

"Oi," Shane cried with mock irritation, "I'm gonna burn it if you're not more careful."

But he was laughing when Jack spun him round and pushed him dangerously close to the lighted stove, their faces only inches apart.  
>"That's okay," he replied with a naughty grin plastered from ear to ear, "I can think of other ways to warm up."<p>

They were fairly well wrapped up in each other, crashing hands and hips and lips together with a sense of urgency brought on by the fact that anybody could just walk in and it would be all over right then, that the sound of the rarely used doorbell sent them both flying in opposite directions across the room, breathing heavily with identical expressions of shock.

Shane was the first to recover when, instead of the door opening, a stack of mail tumbled messily through the slot.  
>"Holy shit," he said with a snort, as he looked out the window quickly and saw the retreating back of the postman, "That was too close."<p>

He reached out and managed to twine several of his fingers through the loops of Jack's belt, who still looked like a deer caught in headlights and pulled him close again.  
>"It's okay," Schofield said as he brushed his lips quickly against Jack's jawline. "It's fine, he didn't see anything."<p>

"Now be a doll and go get that," he added with a grin, pushing Jack towards the mail lying in a heap on the floor.

Jack let out a reluctant 'humph' as he picked the scattered pile up and began to sort it into the pigeonholes beside the door. Nobody wanted to be in the barracks at mail time because nobody wanted the god-awful job of sorting up but they all felt obliged to if it was still just lying there.  
>"Hey," he said after a moment, "there's something here for you."<p>

He shoved the remaining envelopes into their owner's slots before ambling over to where Schofield was setting a couple of steaming bowls of oatmeal – dusted with liberal amounts of brown sugar – on the table, trying not to drop them. Wiping slightly messy hands on his trousers, he took the envelope from Jack's outstretched hand, looking at it curiously.

He recognised it instantly, only one person he knew sent letters in genuine silk envelopes complete with tasteful red ribbon and seal. He was pondering it with a slight frown – he really hadn't thought he'd be getting one of these this year – when Jack's voice cut across his thoughts.

"Well wouldn't you know," he sounded surprised enough to cause Schofield to tear his gaze away from the letter and up to him. "This is actually quite good," he said, looking back at Shane with bright eyes and a cheeky grin, using his spoon to point at the breakfast.

Shane didn't know whether to hit him or kiss him.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **These past couple of chapters have all been fluffy and plot-less. Whilst they're (hopefully) cute and quite fun to write, I suppose at some point I shall have to return to actually advancing the plot. It should move faster from here…

Also, I should admit, my research for this chapter was less thorough than it normally is. I did do a fair bit of reading into HALO jumps but couldn't actually find anything about where they normally land, so the stuff about them landing in water is possibly completely wrong but I did see it on TV once… so I'm gonna go with that.

And it's been a couple of chapters since I last thanked my most wonderful reviewers; SCRW, Darkhunter643, GreenEyedSparrow, I am Cheese and Cheese is Me. You are all incredible people, thank you very much for your encouragement and feedback!

Chapter 17

No matter how many times you do it, throwing yourself out of a plane is never easy, and if you've never done it before then it's downright bloody terrifying. By the time the actual jump rolled around, the entire team was a little on edge but one noticeably more than the others. Schofield, already HALO qualified, was wandering around the room double checking everyone's prepped gear before they got ready to head out to the airfield. He nearly did a double take when he passed by Skip.

"Harper," he said quietly, using her first name and crouching down in front of her. "Are you crying?"

"No, sir," she replied stiffly but the red lines tracked down her face told him otherwise.

Holding onto her elbow and almost lifting her to her feet, he said, "Come with me, I could use a cup of tea."

He steered her out the noisy and messy room and toward the small tea room at the end of the hall. When they got there, he deposited her gently into a chair and grabbed the nearest tin of biscuits he could see, holding them out to her. She took one gratefully and he smiled warmly at her.  
>"Do you want to talk about it?" He said as he filled the kettle and set it on to boil.<p>

She shook her head and he just shrugged, turning around to rummage in the cupboards for some teabags. He didn't particularly like the stuff but his grandmother swore by it. 'There's nothing you can't fix with tea,' she often said.

"It's just," Skip began but cut herself off so Shane turned back to look at her. "You'll think it's silly."

Having found the tea bags, he dropped them in a pair of cups before dropping himself into the chair opposite hers.  
>"Try me," he said.<p>

She looked at him appraisingly for a moment before saying with only a hint of a blush, "It's just boy trouble is all."

He could've laughed.  
>But he didn't.<br>"Well in that case, you've come to the right place," he chose to say instead, "Unless you'd rather talk to Mother."

He was pleased that he managed to make her smile as the kettle went off and he stood up to make the tea. He left his own strong and black whereas he knew Skip liked hers milky and sweet. She began to talk, cupping her hands around the warm mug, as soon as he set it in front of her.

"Do you know I'm getting married?" She began and he shook his head, surprised.

"No."

"Well, I am, been engaged for a bit over a year now so we'd better get on with it soon. My fiancé's not a marine and the thing is he doesn't think I should be either. We had a huge fight over it this morning and as stupid as it sounds, if I died in some freak accident today, I'd hate it if the last thing I said to him was an argument."

"Right," he replied seriously, "Forgive me for being a touch over-cautious but for some unfathomable reason I've got a problem with throwing people out of planes when they're feeling anything less than wonderful."

She laughed at him, holding the cup of tea to her lips.  
>"No," she said firmly. "I want to do this."<p>

"Are you sure?" Schofield asked. "You can take the day off if you want, go home, work things out with him?"

Skip was silent for a moment. On one hand, she didn't want to let down the team and not doing the jump would just back up her fiancé's argument that she shouldn't be a marine anyway.  
>But on the other hand, she really wanted to make things right as soon as possible.<br>She drained the last of the tea and when she spoke, it was resolute.  
>"No. Thank you but I'm jumping."<p>

Schofield just nodded and picked up the empty mugs, rinsing them quickly in the sink and hanging them up to dry. "If you're sure," he said.

Skip hesitated for a moment as he held the door open for her. She looked slightly shy when she asked, "Can I have the night off?"

Shane just smiled at her.  
>"Of course," he said. "Now come on, we've got a plane to catch."<p>

Schofield gave her a reassuring sort of nod when they re-entered the fray. Looking calmer – or at least, as calm as everybody else preparing to jump out of a plane at thirty-five thousand feet can – Skip returned to the final preparations of her equipment whilst Schofield double checked everyone else's. When he reached Jack's, he nearly had a heart attack.  
>It was small, so very small that if you weren't paying two hundred per cent attention you would miss it.<p>

There was a slit on the O-ring seal of his oxygen canister. He only noticed it when he ran his fingers around it and felt them catch faintly on the miniscule tear.

If he hadn't caught it, the bottle would have malfunctioned, leaving Jack stranded with nothing to breathe.

Jack would have died.

"Jesus, Taylor," he almost yelled, loud enough that the entire unit stopped what they were doing to look up, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Your O-ring's faulty," he said at an only slightly more sedate volume, holding up the offending oxygen tank.

Jack paled instantly.  
>"Shit," he breathed as he took the canister from Shane.<p>

"Damn right," Schofield replied.  
>Whilst Jack went about hurriedly replacing the seal with a fully-functional, triple-checked one, Schofield ushered the remaining marines into the transport to take them to the air base. They sat silent and serious with game faces on. Nobody said a word the whole journey there.<p>

Schofield was the first out of the truck the second they arrived at the base. The huge C-130 plane they would do the drop from was already sitting on the runway, engines running and raring to go.

"Let's go people," he called as they ran across the tarmac and under the enormous outstretched wings. As he sat himself down, he shook his head almost imperceptibly at Jack, who had tried to sit next to him. It wasn't that he was really angry at Jack per se. It was, after all, an easy mistake to make and that was why they had people to double and triple check their equipment before any accidents happen; but it would look odd enough for Jack to choose to sit next to him given that the remaining members of the unit were all under the impression that they barely tolerated each other's presence. It was also hard enough not being able to touch him – not a gentle touch on his knee or even a brush of hands - or do anything that might give the game away under normal circumstances. Given how very close things had come to going very wrong, he wasn't sure he could stop himself. If Jack were close to him right now, he was afraid he might not let him go.

So he was much relieved when Skip, exuberance reinstated, dropped into the empty seat beside him. As the plane took off, climbing into the clear blue sky, she tore her eyes away from the window and the ground growing ever smaller to turn to him.  
>"You okay?" She asked, "Not so good with heights?"<p>

"I'm a Pilot, remember," He replied, "So no, no problems with heights."

"Then what's the matter?"

He thought long and hard about how to answer truthfully but discreetly.  
>"Before, you were talking about not going home to your loved ones," he said eventually, "and then Jack damn near goes and does exactly that. It rattled me."<p>

He looked at her in consideration. Coming to the conclusion that he was probably going to regret this but she had been honest with him and the least he could do was be honest in return – mostly.

"Can you keep a secret?" He said and she immediately perked up with interest. "I'm seeing someone."

She squealed in her excitement and he quickly shushed her, not that it was necessary. The belly of a cargo plane is actually an excellent place to hold a private conversation because no matter how many people there are around you, they can't hear a word you're saying over the roar of the engines unless you're saying it right in their ears.

"Ooh, who is he?" Skip asked immediately.

"Nobody," Schofield replied evasively but Skip was never one to be easily put off. Shane suspected that with time, she might become Mother's protégée and that he was going to regret ever introducing them.

"Does Nobody have a name?" She prodded.

His only response was to give her _the look_ and she knew that line of questioning was going to be useless, so she tried a different track.  
>"Is it serious? How long have you been together? Where did you meet? Do I know him?"<p>

"Anybody ever told you, you talk too much," Schofield replied, laughing. "That's a lot of questions."

Skip said nothing, just looked at him expectantly and he couldn't help but smile. He really should suggest her for officer training, he thought, because the look she gave him was eerily reminiscent of himself.

"I hope so. Not long. On base. Probably. Happy now?" He said and she grinned at him.

"Oh my god, Is it a marine?"

Shane tried to nod discretely but it was absolutely useless when Skip's mouth fell open in shock.  
>"Wow," she mouthed silently and finished the sentence aloud, she said, "Well, hence the secrecy. No wonder you wouldn't tell me who he is. Is he out?"<p>

He just shook his head a little and she continued, "That's gotta be hard on you."

"It's hard on both of us."

She snorted a little laugh and he looked at her quizzically, obviously missing something.  
>"Pun not intended," she explained giggling, from behind her hands.<p>

Then it was his turn to drop his jaw with surprise but also a slightly amused smile.  
>"You cheeky little…" he said teasingly and she just smiled as innocent as pie.<p>

"Well are you?"

"What?"

"Sleeping together?"

"I'm gonna refuse to answer that question," he replied, trying to appear dignified but unable to hide the pink tinge creeping across his cheeks.

All of a sudden it seemed, the red light above the loading door flicked on and the ramp began to open with a groaning rumble. When that light turned green, it was time to go. They all started to unbuckle and strap on face masks, oxygen tanks and altimeters. As the bustled about, excited and nervous all in one go, Shane was surprised when Harper was suddenly standing in front of him with her arms wrapped around his neck.

He returned the hug and heard her say over the roar of the wind, "I'm really happy for you."

The light flicked to green and the first person – Rebound – ran off the ramp and disappeared into the wide open skies.  
>"Thank you," he managed to mouth back at her before the light flashed green again. It was her turn and a second later, she was gone.<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Just a quick one, sorry if you're one of those people who can't stand songfics, I normally am myself but I couldn't help but include the marine hymn in this chapter. I was just going to put the first verse but the last one made me laugh so I put the whole damn thing.

Also, I should admit that the ball mentioned in this chapter is a total figment of my imagination. For the life of me, I couldn't find out if there is one or not but I really need it for the plot… so just go with it pretty please.

Finally, I only just said (two chapters ago) that there would be probably three to five chapters more. I shall have to eat my words because there is no way in all hell that this story will be finished in two chapters or so. No frickin way. I was joking when I said it would probably be ten more before, but I'm not joking now.

Chapter 18

Free fall

The sensation is incredible. As the solid surface drops out from beneath you and your stomach flies upwards, the world below opens out. Shane Schofield and the ten other bodies falling beside him could see nothing but sea and sky, blue in every direction.

It felt like flying.

It felt like freedom.

But the rip of the cord and sudden jerk of the canopy was the harsh snap back to reality – every second was only bringing them closer to the ground. By the time the parachute had opened above them and they were drifting as though weightless, they weren't far from the churning waves. In fact, they were so close that Schofield reckoned he could count the foaming white head's as they crested. They opened the chutes high enough to stop them flattening like pancakes against the tensed surface of the water but low enough that it didn't fully take the speed off and they sliced into the water like bullets.

Immediate silence like the womb enveloped them.  
>Shane could hear his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears. With a few powerful kicks, they broke the surface as one. Quickly shucking their facemasks into waterproof pouches and grabbing compasses to find their bearings, they set off in the direction that hopefully lead towards land. They didn't have that far to go actually. The drop zone was a little over a mile offshore. Hearts pumping hard with adrenaline, they would cover that distance quickly.<p>

Although the water was cold, it was nothing compared to the temperatures at thirty-five thousand feet and so the water against Schofield's face – the only part of him exposed – was refreshing. The rhythm of each long stroke propelling him through the water, rolling to momentarily steal a breath before powering on, focusing only on rhythm and breathing, Shane found it calming. By the time they were dragging themselves and their equipment up the beach, high fives and curses and jubilation all around, he was calm enough to risk a small half-smile at Jack when no one else was looking.

They all piled their gear back into the truck and still dripping wet, climbed in together. As the driver rumbled the large personnel truck into gear, he was unsurprised to hear the traditional Marine Hymn sounding loud and proud – and off key – in the background.

_From the Halls of Montezuma,_

_To the Shores of Tripoli;_

_We fight our country's battles_

_In the air, on land, and sea;_

_First to fight for right and freedom_

_And to keep our honor clean;_

_We are proud to claim the title_

_Of UNITED STATES MARINES._

_Our flag's unfurled to every breeze,_

_From dawn to setting sun;_

_We have fought in every clime and place_

_Where we could take a gun;_

_In the snow of far off northern lands_

_And in sunny tropic scenes;_

_You will find us always on the job -_

_The UNITED STATES MARINES._

_Here's health to you and to our Corps_

_Which we are proud to serve;_

_In many a strife we've fought for life_

_And never lost our nerve;_

_If the Army and the Navy_

_Ever look on Heaven's scenes;_

_They will find the streets are guarded_

_By UNITED STATES MARINES_

Schofield managed to find himself a quiet seat next to Book II.  
>"I've been meaning to have a chat with you," he said. "Haven't had the chance to ask you how it went?"<p>

A brilliant smile spread across Book's face. Shane was sure he'd never seen the younger man so openly happy.  
>"She said yes," he replied, seemingly stunned. "It was great."<p>

A look of delirious bewilderment crossed his face and he turned to Schofield, saying, "I'm getting married. I'm really getting married."

Shane couldn't help but laugh, clapping him on the knee.  
>"Congratulations."<p>

"Thank you for the, you know."

"Don't mention it."

When they pulled into the compound, Jack was the first on his feet – completely recovered from his near death experience.  
>"Is it my prerogative to give us all the rest of the day off?" He asked in Schofield's direction, loudly, so that the whole unit heard which was, of course, his intention. Nothing like a little peer pressure to help smooth along a decision. Shane just nodded his head once and the whole unit roared their approval. He stood up, silencing them.<p>

"I think we're due a party anyway, right?" He said, clapping Book II still seated beside him and staring off into the distance on the shoulder.

"What?" the other man piped up, startled, to see the whole unit staring at him expectantly.  
>"Oh yeah," he continued with a broad grin spreading across his face "I'm getting married and we're having a baby."<p>

As expected, the celebration was riotous. Somebody – Schofield suspected Rebound – ducked off and procured a ridiculous amount of alcohol as well as a bottle of orange juice for the pregnant Juliet, who somebody else had invited. In the end, it lasted most of the day. Schofield didn't mind that one bit. They were nearing the end of their training and his grace period together. Soon, they would be released on active duty and he would be looking for a new job.  
>They could afford to goof off together for a few hours.<p>

"Didn't realise it was that time of year again," Mother's voice rang out over the crowd. She was standing by the table giving advice to Juliet and Skip when she spotted the envelope that Schofield had abandoned there.

"Yeah," he replied, getting up from his seat under the window where he had been watching Astro beat Rebound at Super Mario Kart.  
>"I can honestly say I didn't expect to get one of these this year," he said, taking the envelope from her and opening it for the first time.<p>

Looking over his shoulder as he pulled out a small piece of paper with swirling, elegant writing on it, she said, "there's something so fucking cool about seeing your name on the same piece of paper as the president's."

"Holy shit," Skip's voice came from over his other shoulder.

"You going then?" He directed the question to Juliet – complete with orange juice and just noticeable bump – and Mother.

Juliet just nodded. He supposed when you were a member of the secret service, you probably became a touch blasé about these things. Mother nodded vigorously also, saying, "My Ralphie says he's gonna shoot himself if he's forced to wear a suit again but I wouldn't miss it for all the fried chicken in the world."

Every year without fail since the episode with the president in Utah, an envelope like this had turned up in the mail, _cordially inviting Capt. Shane Schofield_ to the annual President's ball to be held in the grand ballroom of the White House itself.  
>Apparently, saving the life of the president has its perks.<p>

In all the noise, nobody noticed when Jack slipped quietly out of the room.

Schofield was just about to declare it a night too when Skip was suddenly at his elbow again, of all things, holding out his phone.  
>"You dropped this," she said, "thought you'd probably need it if someone special calls."<p>

As if at her words, the phone in his hand buzzed with a message.

"How'd you know that was going to happen?" He asked both amazed and suspicious.

Skip laughed mischievously.  
>"Cause you've got two missed calls. Is he really such a big secret you can't even have his number on speed dial?"<p>

Unfortunately for Schofield, she said is clearly in earshot of Mother, who asked loudly for everyone to hear, "Who?"

Even more unfortunately for him, it was Book II who answered that question for her.  
>"It's probably just his boyfriend," he said and the whole party just stopped instantly, all heads turning his way.<p>

"How come Skip knows?" Book said.

"How come I don't?" Mother said.

"Fuck," Scarecrow said.

He decided the best way to handle this particular situation was to act totally cool, like nothing happened. He pulled his phone out and checked the message instead, studiously avoiding all the glances coming his way. As Skip had noticed, he didn't have Jack on his speed dial for exactly this situation, but the number was Jack's – he had it memorised instead.

_I'm in your room ;)_

That was all the message said.  
>Schofield smiled to himself. His night was suddenly looking a lot brighter.<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Milestone: Confessions has over a thousand hits! That made me very excited.

As I suspect many of my readers are also Australian and therefore unfamiliar with American weights and whatnot, we're told that Mother weighs in at an even 200 pounds which is somewhere in the vicinity of 90 kilograms. That sounds like a fairly significant amount but when you consider the muscle weight of an average marine – which is fairly similar to a professional sports player – 90 kg's is actually a fairly average amount. All the same, Schofield is always described as "lean" in the books, so I've got him weighing in at a fair bit less than that at around 77 or so kg's – 170 pounds. It's also not directly mentioned in this chapter, but just for interests sake in my head I see Jack as being a slightly stockier build than Schofield, so he'd be slightly heavier, maybe 80-85 kg or 185 pounds.

And for people who don't wear glasses (I do, unfortunately) yes, you really can poke yourself in the eye with them. It's actually far too easy, makes you look like a total idiot and very painful.

Also, just a quick word to my very favourite reviewers, twice now you've left me messages saying you're sorry you didn't get round to reviewing earlier. Don't be silly! You're under no obligation to review for me and I certainly don't want you to feel like you have to – though I will admit I await them with baited breath and they make me smile very much – I consider it a privilege, not a right to receive them. So with that said, thank you very very very much for the devotion you show by reviewing every chapter. I wanted to put this message up publicly instead of sending it to you all individually so that:

a) the entire world can know that you are wonderful people

b) they hopefully won't think I've beaten you into reviewing for me and know that I'm very grateful for it.

c) I'm going to send you a special message anyway with a special something else because I'm stuck on something and I need the help of the people whose opinions matter most to me.

This is just a short little chapter, gearing up to a big finale.

And I'm very sorry for being a tease.

Chapter 19

Schofield had barely entered the room and shut the door behind him when something solid – Jack – crashed into him and pinned his body against the wall. He still had one hand on the light switch as Jack raised a hand, brushing against Shane's, to flick the light back off, before bringing it up to join his other hand that was curled around Shane's neck. It always caught him by surprise, the feeling of Jack's hands against his skin because they were large and rough and so unlike any girl he'd ever been with. Even now, as they wrestled tongues, he was acutely aware of how they gently but completely encircled his throat. Just a little bit of pressure could turn this from ecstasy to danger in a matter of minutes.

With both their bodies pressed together and himself pushed against the wall, Schofield took charge of the situation. He pushed back and felt Jack respond, stepping backwards. Fisting his own hands into Jack's shirt, he pulled them both together again as he carefully navigated their bodies, still joined at the mouth, across the room. He tugged at the base of the shirt and Jack lifted his arms obligingly, allowing Shane to pull it over his head. Barely a second later, he had his own shirt off and on the floor beside Jack's, relishing the feeling of bare skin against skin. His teeth nipped at his ears and neck and collarbone whilst his hands roamed freely across Jack's chest, exploring in the darkness ridges of muscle that brushed roughly against his own abdomen and sensitive skin that shivered under his fingers.

He wasn't sure if he pushed him, or if Jack pulled him down – maybe they both just tripped over some shadowed object in the messy room – but they hit the bed together. Ever cautious, even when every hazy masturbatory fantasy he'd ever dreamed of was right before his eyes, Shane was careful to brace himself against Jack's biceps, straddling him without crushing him. Although he was fairly sure that Jack was heavier and probably physically stronger than himself, all the same, a 170 pound marine was quite a different reality to a 110 pound blonde-haired, blue-eyed beach babe, and so he held himself up on one arm, leaving the other free to continue roaming Jack's body.

Jack however, bemoaned the loss of complete body contact and it seemed, had other plans. If Shane pulled back, he pushed forward, bringing their mouths clashing back together or just nuzzling gently with his nose and forehead. The touch was totally at odds with the way he arched his body into Schofield's with his hands braced against the slight curve where hipbone met flat and well-defined abdominal muscles, fingers splayed down his thigh muscles. He twisted his hips into Schofield's and was pleased to hear – and feel – him respond. Shane managed to steal his mouth back from Jack for a fleeting second, long enough to drop his head to Jack's neck and moan into the warm skin there, sinking his teeth into his collarbone to stifle the sound. Jack had no such reservations and cried aloud. Immediately, two things happened.

Firstly, Schofield's extraordinary reflexes kicked in and all of a sudden, Jack found a warm, gun-calloused hand clamped firmly over his mouth with Schofield - all bright blue eyes and lips bruised to a dark red - leaning over him smiling, half-amused, half-scared as all shit.

Secondly, Jack decided very quickly that there were far too many layers of clothing between them and so hurriedly drop his hands to fiddle with Shane's belt. For the first time in pretty much forever, He didn't care one iota that it was a man successfully reducing him to this state.  
>Especially not when the man in question was breathing hard, skin flushed, eyes glazed and equally as hard against his thigh.<p>

They moved as one and it would have been perfect had they been going for the same spot. Jack brought his head up to hopefully meet Shane's lips halfway but Shane had been aiming for Jack's collarbone and the resulting collision meant that where they actually met was Jack's forehead into Shane's covered eyes, forcing his sunglasses back into his eyes.

"Fuck, ow," was Schofield's response as he pulled back quickly, taking the glasses off and rubbing at his eyes. As Jack sat up beneath him, their eyes met. Jack was fairly sure he was the first one to laugh and in return, Shane hit him but he too was laughing. At that moment, Shane felt his lust-addled sensibility return and, with the glasses removed, Jack saw his eyes clear.

Kissing Jack gently, he took his hands from where they were resting on his now undone pants and lifted them off before doing the zipper back up – admittedly with a little bit of difficultly - but leaving the belt.  
>"We should stop," he said.<p>

"You are kidding right?" Jack replied and Shane couldn't help but laugh a little, though when he spoke it was serious.

"Have you ever done this before?" Answering the question with one of his own. When Jack didn't say anything, the answer was as clear to Schofield as if he had.

"It hurts," Shane said bluntly, "a lot."

"Listen to me," he continued, taking Jack's hand in his. "You've just moved half-way around the world, started a new job, faced up to who you are, started a relationship with a guy and been forced to keep it a secret, I'd say that's quite enough for now."

Jack started to protest but Shane just held up a hand, silencing him.  
>"I want this too," he said and almost laughed aloud when Jack tried to glance down surreptitiously to check, "but I'd rather take the chance that this might be something really special than risking ruining it now by pushing too far, too fast. This relationship is already pretty intense, we've been forced to live together already and keep it hidden from everybody else around us. Let's not complicate it more than it already is this early."<p>

He rolled off of Jack to sit at the edge of the bed and Jack cautiously swung his legs round to sit beside him.  
>"Besides," Shane said, "do you really want to sleep with me in some dingy marine barracks with paper thin walls and thirty people around us that aren't allowed to know?"<p>

"You're right," Jack finally agreed, curling a hand around Schofield's shoulder and pressing a kiss into it.  
>When out of the blue, he asked, "This president's ball thing, do you get a plus one?"<p>

Schofield just nodded absentmindedly.

"Take me," Jack said softly, making it Shane's turn to be startled.

"What?"

"Take me," he repeated. Shane turned to look at him and the look in his eyes was adamant.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** I feel that the last chapter requires a little bit of explanation but I didn't want to include it in that chapter because that would have given it away and the last author note was getting a bit too long as well. So, I sat down to write the last chapter and fully intended to write a sex scene but in the middle of it, I got a call from my mother asking me to drive up to the train station and pick up my little brother. Along the way, the song 'Just a Kiss' by Lady Antebellum was playing on the radio, and it really made me stop and think.

There's an awful lot of glorification of sex going on, especially in fan-fiction where I think to a certain extent, we're encouraged to read and write porn and it's supposedly not the same – or not as bad – as actual porn. And although this is a story about two guys, so there's a certain chain of thought that says they'd probably be jumping in bed together as soon as possible. I personally think that they would both be unprepared for it and, as I wrote, Scarecrow's sensible side would win out. Plus, I reckon from the books that he's definitely got a real romantic side. Don't get me wrong, as some point they'll probably be sleeping together – whether it's in this story or in the sequel (of which there are more details about on my profile page) – but I just wanted to highlight that there's nothing wrong with making the decision that some things are worth waiting for, and that it's worth taking the chance of finding the perfect relationship and having plenty of time for sex later on than blowing it now, if you'll pardon the pun.

_Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
>be the one I've been waiting for my whole life<br>so I'm alright with just a kiss goodnight_

I've been waiting for the plot to get to this point for a very long time so I'm pretty excited to be able to share these last couple of chapters with you now! So, on with the chapter.

Chapter 20

By the time the ball itself rolled around, Schofield only had a handful of days remaining as a marine and in his opinion, there were more important things to worry about, like what the hell he was going to do with himself when he didn't have to live his life by the chime of a marine clock, but his unit were pre-occupied with other matters.

"When are we going to meet this boyfriend of yours?" Book wanted to know, "With you being my best man and all, I'm assuming he'll be at the wedding and I'd sort of like to meet him before that."

"Plus, he's got to pass my inspection," Mother added, "before it gets serious."

"I bet he's sweet," Skip said dreamily.

Sanchez helpfully supplied a comment involving leather, chains and fishnets that made Astro blush something terrible. Bigfoot diplomatically avoided saying anything at all and Rebound was still trying to get his head around his hero having a boyfriend.

Really, the last thing Shane needed was Jack adding his two cents worth into the mix.  
>"We're going to have to meet him eventually," he said cheekily and – as much as it irritated him to admit it – truthfully.<p>

Some days, he thought Jack was right. The sneaking was starting to drive him crazy. He'd thought he'd done away with lying and hiding in that courtroom what felt like eons ago but he was still trapped, half-tied back in a closet that was suffocating him.

Then his rational side would remind him that this was all for Jack's sake. If anybody found out, well, he figured getting your boyfriend fired wasn't the best way to begin a relationship.

Only, Jack wanted out as well. It was his fucking idea to go to the bloody ball together anyway, and it was one thing to perhaps decide to tell a few trustworthy and discreet friends.  
>And maybe Mother as well.<br>But to out himself in public in front of every influential politician, high-ranking officer Shane could think of and the president himself. It wasn't courage or pride, it was suicide.  
>One thing the whole dilemma had taught him though; Jack Taylor didn't do things by halves.<p>

And then that would bring him back to thinking that he was probably right and the cycle would continue. All he knew for sure was that if it didn't end soon, it would do his head in.

The problem was, Jack was willing to destroy his life for Shane and Shane was willing to do whatever it took to shield Jack from all the crap he'd already been through.  
>Ain't love grand?<p>

The argument, both internal and external, continued right up until the last minute, when Schofield was trying to double check that his full dress blues were spotless with only the pathetically small mirror in the bathroom and Jack hanging off his shoulders.

"No," he said as firmly as he could manage with Jack's arms wrapped around his chest and Jack's mouth teasing the sensitive spot at the base of his neck.

"Pretty please," Jack replied teasingly, catching Shane's eye in the reflection.

"No," Schofield repeated, but even he could hear how unconvinced he sounded. Much to his irritation, Jack spun him around so they were practically nose to nose and brought his hands up to cup Schofield's face, rubbing one thumb gently across the thick, ropey skin of a scar.  
>"You don't need to protect me," he said softly, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his lips.<p>

"Because hey," Jack added, "I'm perfectly capable of screwing up my own life.

He was pleased to see the smallest hint of a smile quirk at Schofield's lips, so he pressed on.

"Mother's got Ralph, Book's got Juliet. You can't be the loser going solo now can you?" Jack said, counting the reasons off on his fingers as he went. "And besides, I've already got my uniform pressed and ready."

Schofield didn't know how to respond so he stalled for time by dragging Jack into a rough kiss, full of heat, not a little teeth and the coppery hint of blood. In a way that was fast becoming desperate, Schofield tried to pour everything he was feeling into that kiss. One part anger for all that he had lost, one part fear of the future and just a hint of resentment that Jack still had it all and wanted to throw it away anyway.  
>For him.<p>

As soon as he'd acknowledged those feelings festering in a corner of his mind he'd been trying to ignore, it felt like a weight had lifted and he could function again. He wasn't angry that he'd lost a job inasmuch as he had lost the security and comfortable familiarity of his entire adult life. It wasn't only his future he was frightened for but Jack's as well – together or not together, marine or no – and, he knew at the end of the day, this was Jack's decision. It wasn't his job to make it for him, or to try and shield him from it. It was his job to support him in whatever decision he made.  
>After all, few people would know better than himself the pressures of the closet and the mental gymnastics of the coming out rigmarole – especially in the military.<p>

Hell, maybe it would be easier if they both got thrown out.

"Fine," he said, tearing his mouth back but not removing his forehead from where it was resting against Jack's. Every breath he took was one Jack had just exhaled.  
>"Fine," he repeated.<p>

Then abruptly, he looked up and was smiling naughtily. With his hands still flat on Jack's chest, Schofield pushed him backwards out of the room, saying, "You've got thirty seconds to be ready."

Whilst Jack threw his dress blues on as quickly as he possibly could, Schofield snuck downstairs to make sure none of the others had returned from dinner early. Even though it wouldn't really matter from tonight onwards, he was hoping to at least be able to leave the barracks without too much drama.  
>Which promptly reminded him not to drink too much. Tomorrow morning was almost certainly going to be a fuss anyway and adding a hangover into the mix was only going to make it unbearable.<p>

By the time the stylish black car – another apparent perk of saving the president's life - had arrived to collect them, he was feeling seriously nervous but just then, Jack came bounding down the stairs, also a clear bundle of nervous energy. Shane was happy to see that he stood tall, looking proud in his full dress uniform, which incidentally looked great on him. They really were a triumph of design – dignified and well-tailored, there were few who didn't look good in them but Jack, he had to admit, looked stunning. The jacket was tight across his shoulders and chest, the red stripe of the pale blue pants accentuating his height, the stiff white collar giving an elegant edge to his easy going smile. He almost startled himself when he realised he himself probably didn't look all that shabby either. Tonight, he was proud to be wearing the uniform that marked him out as a marine and he was proud to do it standing beside another marine, his marine.

'Actually,' he thought ironically, 'whoever designed these was probably gay.'

Straight-backed, Schofield took Jack's hand as they slid into the car and when the driver – holding the door open for them – gave them an odd look, he just glared right back. This night was for Jack and he wasn't going to let anything spoil it.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Just a quick disclaimer to say that I have nothing against Uluru. I've been there; think it's an incredible and awe-inspiring place. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Aboriginal people, elders past and present, and its significance to them. But I couldn't help myself…

And dammit, there are too many Jacks in this chapter!

A word of warning in advance, the next chapter is going to be short. Really short. But hopefully with big impact and a big twist – have fun guessing what it might be!

This chapter is for GreenEyedSparrow, who always encourages me to get off my lazy ass and finish a chapter quickly, before the cliffhanger kills her - hopefully you like the one at the end of this chapter! :p

Chapter 21

On the way there, Schofield was almost glad they got stuck in traffic. Juliet was a stickler for being on time – she probably would have had Book II ready to go three hours early just in case – and Ralph insisted that if he had to go to these stupid things, he was at least going to be there early enough to get a head start on the canapés. Running late meant they could avoid the awkward questions for a little bit longer, lost in the throng of invitees. But he couldn't delay it forever and soon, the car was pulling up the impressive drive to the White House. Jack was practically buzzing with excitement. When you come from a country where the most exciting tourist destination is a giant rock in the middle of bloody nowhere, the White House seemed like a pretty big deal.

The silent secret service man who had been temporarily assigned the job or doorman/security mirrored the look of astonishment that the driver had given them when Schofield handed over the invitation and qualified Jack as his plus one. He couldn't discern whether it was disapproval or mere curiosity but either way, he was glad the glance passed unnoticed by Jack. As was expected with any event that included the president, the security was tight. Due to the rather large amount of metal on their dress uniforms – including Schofield's impressive collection of medals – they were subjected to a quick pat-down instead of passing through the metal detector. As they were both declared clear, the thought passed briefly through his mind; what would they have done if he'd worn the ceremonial sword that completed full dress blues?  
>Next time, he decided.<br>If there was a next time.

"You're sure about this?" Schofield asked, turning to Jack.

Jack turned to him as well and Shane could see he was smiling wryly.  
>"Absolutely," he replied.<p>

And together, they walked into the throng of important people milling in their Sunday best in the grand ballroom of the White House.

Schofield was immediately struck with the difficultly of how exactly to make it clear they were here together, as a couple and not just a couple of marines hanging out together. He didn't think that just standing together would really cut it. Holding hands seemed a little soft and making out in a darkened corner was perhaps inappropriate. As luck would have it, he was distracted from that dilemma by a loud voice from behind him and a hand falling on his shoulder.

"Thought I recognised you," said the broad and weather beaten face of Captain Jack Walsh. "The only man I know with the balls to wear sunglasses in the presence of POTUS himself."

Schofield smiled warmly at him, taking the offered hand and touching the mirrored glasses he was wearing fondly with the other. He had at least, dispensed with the more casual Oakleys and gone with a classic pair of aviators – real Tom Cruise style.

"Nice to see you again too," he replied and they exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. Although neither man was particularly gifted in the area of small talk, familiarity and long-standing friendship helped to ease the way. Walsh was happy to regale them with stories of the two loves of his life – his grandkids and his ship – but Shane could sense Jack beside him becoming increasingly tense as he failed to mention in return the significant details of his life at the moment. When Walsh asked him specifically how life was treating him, he answered with a non-committal "fine."  
>At which point, Jack physically bristled and Schofield could feel the annoyance coming off him in waves.<p>

"Sorry," he said quickly before Jack could say anything they would both regret. "Where are my manners? Captain Jack Taylor, meet Captain Jack Walsh, a very old friend of mine."

He tried to emphasise the last few words so that Jack would understand – this man's opinion mattered more to him than most – but Jack was either oblivious or too angry to care.  
>"Pleasure," he said stonily with a hard glance at Shane before simply turning and walking away.<p>

"Shit," Schofield said quickly to himself. He was now caught between a rock and a hard place. He owed Jack Walsh a better explanation than this but he also couldn't just let his Jack walk away without going after him. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he made a difficult decision as fast as was humanly possible.  
>"I'll be back," he added hurriedly to Walsh as he turned to race off after Jack.<p>

Running through the host of important people didn't really seem to him like the dignified or safe option, so he settled for walking hastily, trying to match Jack's long steps to catch up with him. Thankfully, there weren't that many marine dress uniforms running around the place and they tended to stick out against the multitude of black tuxedos and evening gowns.  
>Not to mention that there was only one whose figure he would recognise anywhere, instantly.<p>

Schofield pushed his way through the people, bumping plenty of shoulders he was sure but finally, he managed to get a hand on the crook of Jack's elbow, stopping him from behind. At the touch, Jack spun around, his face still stony and the ever present smile gone.  
>"You're mad at me," he said simply, knowing that the best way to avert an argument becoming a scene was to acknowledge it – avoiding a problem never solved it - but reason lost out when Jack didn't reply. He didn't say anything or so much as flick a muscle and so Schofield lost hold of his carefully held back temper.<br>"Dammit Jack," he yelled, "Be reasonable here."

Which was quite enough to provoke a response.

"Reasonable?" Jack repeated. He didn't yell, which Shane found all the more disconcerting. Instead, his tone was icy, dangerous. "You introduce me like I'm nobody to you and then tell _me_ to be reasonable. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I am nobody to you."

Shane passed a hand over his eyes and said quietly, "You're not."  
>He had been trying to will his temper back under control but it was no longer necessary, the hurt in Jack's voice had broken it.<p>

"You're not nothing," he said again, a little stronger this time, "but you've got a lot to learn about being out. It's not as simple as you think it is. Do you realise that even if you do this tonight, it won't end here. When you go back to base tomorrow, there will be thousands of people that still won't know and only a handful that will. Then, it'll start to spread slowly and with every retelling, the story will become more garbled and confused until everybody knows something different but everybody thinks they know the truth. So even after tonight, you've got months ahead of you of finding and telling the people that you care about before they hear it from someone else – and you never know what they might hear or already believe. Not to mention the amount of crazy misconceptions and rumours you'll have to debunk. You think you can control this but you can't. Once you're out, people will judge you based solely on the fact that you're gay and even better than that, they'll judge all gay people based on their experiences of you. Like it or not, you become an ambassador for the cause and it's a heavy responsibility, take it from someone who knows now."

He paused, took a deep breath.

"Now Jack Walsh is a very old friend of mine," he continued, gesturing back in the general direction of where he stood, "He put his career on the line to get my ass out of Bosnia. I owe him-"

"You owe him the truth," Jack cut across.

"Yes," Schofield replied sharply, "He ought to know and he will _know when the opportune moment presents itself_. In the near future, you're going to find that it's not always the easiest thing to drop into conversation. 'I'm gay,' is just plain awkward. 'Hey, what about those village people – I've always had a bit of a soft spot for the cowboy myself,' is effective but tacky and if all else fails, you'll find a couple of cocktails and a darling at the end of every sentence ought to do the trick."

"What's wrong with, 'this is my boyfriend'?" Jack said softly, stepping in closer to Schofield so they were practically nose to nose. Almost all trace of the anger had left his face and voice, leaving only hurt.  
>"It's clear, simple and truthful."<p>

Shane was at an utter loss for what to say to that when somehow, the evening managed to get even worse. Internally, he was cursing whatever Irish relatives he didn't know he had because they had obviously brought Mr Murphy down on him all guns blazing tonight. He supposed that with all the fuss they'd created earlier, it wasn't that odd that people had taken notice of them. Likewise, they did stand out in their dress uniforms, so it shouldn't have been unforeseeable that they would be recognised, especially by those that knew them well. So in reality, he shouldn't have been surprised at all when Mother and Book II, with Ralph and Juliet in tow were suddenly standing behind him.  
>But he was.<br>Just his luck really.

"What's going on here?" Book II said diplomatically.

Mother however, chose that exact moment to say slightly less diplomatically, "What the fuck's going on?"

"What are you doing here?" She added, jerking her head at Jack.

Ralph, mostly disinterested, was looking for the nearest waiter. Mother and Book II exchanged a confused glance with each other. Juliet, looking resplendent in her gown but unsure of why this man she'd only met a couple of days ago was suddenly here, was looking at Jack. Jack was looking pointedly at Schofield, a muscle starting to jump in his jaw and Shane was looking up at the roof, wondering how the fuck he managed to get himself into these situations and what he was now going to do to get himself out of it.

When he spoke, the words that left his mouth managed to surprise even him.  
>"Dance with me."<p>

He dropped his head from the admittedly very well sculptured roof to Jack's equally beautiful face to find that he was staring back at him with a look of shock that probably matched his own.  
>"Have you lost your mind?" Jack replied.<p>

Heart feeling considerably lighter as if right then, he didn't have a single care in the world, Schofield sauntered off with his hands in his pockets in the direction of the very centre of the grand ballroom. As soon as he'd said it, he knew it was the right thing to do.  
>"Dance with me," he called back again over his shoulder.<p>

If he'd turned around to look, he would have seen a broad grin start to spread across Jack's face as he started to follow, quickly catching up and sliding his hand into Schofield's, they laughed together at their utter ridiculousness.  
>"Are you sure?" He said.<p>

Shane looked down at their clasped hands, saying, "Bit late now. Are you scared?"

"Yeah," Jack breathed back as he slipped his hand around Schofield's back and closed the distance between their bodies so his head rested against Schofield's.

In turn, Shane pulled their joined hands up, rocking them loosely in time with the music and pressed a quick kiss against Jack's temple.  
>"Me too."<p>

For a moment, he closed his eyes and all he could hear was the music but when he opened them again and sight returned, faces overwhelmed him. Those of his closest friends - Book II, Mother, Juliet and even Ralph – looking stunned. Faces from his past like Jack Walsh, his mentor and old Hot Rod Haggerty – still a White House ladder-climbing pencil-pusher - flashed past in the crow; even the president himself with that asshole Nicholas Tate hovering close by as always. That was without even mentioning the hundreds of nameless faces all around that were stopped mid step or with champagne flutes half-way to their lips, all just looking at them.

_Let's give them something to look at,_ he thought to himself as he closed his eyes again and surrendered to sensation – the smell of Jack like fresh mown grass and just the hint of vanilla, the feel of his heart beating against his chest even through the fabric between them, the taste of him as he pulled his own head back from against his cheek to press their lips together, long, languid and tenderly. _Let them look._  
>He didn't care.<p>

As the music faded away, Shane didn't let go of Jack's hand. Instead, he dragged him through the crowd, past their stares and out onto the first balcony he saw. Leaning Jack up against the elegant marble balustrade he kissed him with all the passion he could muster, with hands clutching at each other's faces, arms, waists, like they might never let go. Their lips sunk into each other's' mouths as though they were trying to pour out themselves into the other. They were so distracted, wrapped up in each other, that neither heard the soft footsteps of expensive leather shoes approach.

Schofield was startled. He had expected that it would be Mother who would find them first. Actually, he'd so much anticipated that as the most likely scenario that he was quite afraid of it – although she would be absolutely overwhelmingly happy for them, she'd also be absolutely bloody furious she hadn't known. He'd also considered the possibility that it would be Jack Walsh – coming to finish the conversation they really should have had earlier. So when a hand tapped him on the shoulder, Shane was more than surprised at the face he would recognise anywhere. It was wise and stern, but kindly, though there were quite a few more wrinkles present now then there had been the last time he had seen him.

The President of the United States was standing beside him, as he clung to Jack Taylor on a balcony of the White House, in the light rain he hadn't even noticed had begun to fall.

"Captain Schofield," the President said, "A word if I may."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **This chapter has been a very long time in the making and is probably my all time favourite for this story. If you like it as well, please let me know.

Also, I obviously know who this chapter is about because I wrote it but I'd be interested in knowing who you guys think it is.

Thank you.

Chapter 22

It seemed absurd that he would be standing here now, in this nondescript room buried in the bottom of the White House in the presence of the President of the United States once again. Shane Schofield's thoughts briefly turned back to the conversation they had had the previous night and why on earth he had agreed to do this.

"Sir," he said tentatively to the President. "Why are you doing this? I know I'm the grunt and you're the politician but I know enough to know that you need the conservative vote if you're going to win the election this year."

"Captain," the President replied, "When one man saves another's life, a certain debt is owed. This country needs you more than it needs me and besides, who wants to be re-elected for a second term anyway? The job's a nightmare."

"Oh and Shane," he added with a rare smile, "Don't wear the sunglasses."

Despite the flurry of activity going on around them, the room was mostly bare.  
>Just a stark table and a pair of chairs.<p>

Shane took his assigned seat. He slipped his glasses off and laid them carefully beside him on the table, exposing the scars to the rooms view.  
>Beside him, a blonde woman with perfectly set hair and a power suit took the other.<p>

The lights flashed on.  
>Cameras started to whir.<br>His hands started to shake  
>and the woman beside him began to talk, staring straight down the camera.<p>

"In a historical moment for our nation, the President will today introduce a bill to parliament to strike the controversial 'Don't Ask, Don't tell' policy officially from United States law and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Here with me to provide a personal perspective on life under this policy and an appeal for its demise is Captain Shane M. Schofield of the United States Marine Corp. At the stroke of midnight tonight, Captain Schofield will no longer be a United States Marine despite many years of honourable service to the corp and country as he was dismissed dishonourably from service under this policy for revealing that he identifies as homosexual."

She turned to him and he swallowed hard.

"Captain," she began but he quickly cut her off.

"Excuse me," he said, "I know you've got questions you want to ask me but I sort of just wanted to talk. I think I know what I need to say."

The woman shot the lead camera man a quizzical look. This wasn't what she was expecting but he shrugged at her as if to say, if it's a disaster we can always reshoot it. She nodded discretely at him and he began to talk.

If he had been able to see the screens, he would have seen that they panned the camera for a close shot, so that he was the only one in the frame.  
>It would stay that way for the duration of the filming.<p>

"When I first came out, I saw a few of those 'It Gets Better' Videos. I especially liked the one from Kermit the frog but the thing is, they're wrong. When you're a marine, it doesn't get better.

A few years ago now, when I was placed in command of my first recon unit, there was a marine in it. Funnily enough, there were actually a dozen marines in it but this one stands out. He was just a kid, joined the Marines right out of high school and loved it like nothing else. Being a marine was his passion. All he wanted to do was serve his country. He wasn't real bright like but he worked hard and he was a good kid. I was proud to be his commander.

And then, one day, I found him shooting up on base.

I could've killed him I was so angry. I couldn't understand why when he loved being a Marine he would throw it away over something as stupid as drugs. He was terrified, didn't know if he could trust me or not but in the end, he had no choice. He showed me the bottle.  
>He was shooting up AZT."<p>

Pause

"I looked it up. Azidothymidine or AZT is a reverse transcriptase inhibitor.  
>You only take AZT if you're HIV positive.<p>

He was dying alone because he couldn't tell anyone.

In the end, he died on a mission. I know that was what he wanted, if he was going to die anyway, he wanted to do it in a way that mattered, that brought honor to him and his family and to the corp. His body was destroyed and afterwards, I broke into his locker and removed the AZT, so that no one would find out. I thought that if the corp knew, they would rescind the medal he received for services to his country – it was only a small comfort to his family but they shouldn't have lost that as well.  
>Nobody ever knew until now.<p>

But since then I've lived wondering, was his death really an accident? Maybe it was but I'm willing to bet that at the end, he was relieved."

He fixed the camera with a piercing gaze.

"He was worthy of the name Marine and being gay shouldn't change that. In the end, he died because he loved his country more than he loved himself. Don't belittle that."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Hmmm… these chapters are getting really angsty. Hope it's not boring it's just, I guess when you do have a personal insight into these sort of situations, you really want to do it justice. Only, the thing is, these situations suck. And not just some of the time. More often than not, it all just sucks. Hence major angst.

In a nutshell – and speaking as someone who's copped a fair amount of homophobic shit in a rather short lifetime – moving on isn't really an option because you live with that pain every day and besides, if you just forget about it, it's never going to get better.

And then there's the flip side of that: the Pride movement. Yes, it does amazing things. Yes, it's the driving force for change but, what people don't realise is that there is so much pressure to then yield to all that and let it be the major factor in your life.

Either way, it all tried to make out that being gay is the biggest deal of your life and personally, I like to think I'm a whole lot more than just that. Now, I'm a fairly confident person (nowadays) and that's mostly due to hitting absolute rock bottom a few years ago, and I still find it tough. Imagine how someone like Schofield – dealing with major changes in their lives, still struggling to accept who they are, sometimes proud, sometimes very much not and mostly just confused about the whole bloody thing – imagine how much harder it is again.

So yeah, that's a pretty personal note I guess but I really wanted to explain why these chapters are like this – because this is what it's actually like. Crazy!

On a lighter note, I toyed with the idea of revealing who the marine who died was but seeing as nobody worked it out (if you think you did, please tell me! :p) it shall remain that way.

Sorry for the long time it took to get this chapter out, it's nice and long to make up for that! And it gets increasingly fluffy for the less angsty inclined.

Chapter 23

As the lights dimmed and the cameras switched off, the room around him seemed to shrink. Letting the enormity of exactly what he'd done sink in, Schofield thought that real life felt oddly unreal, diminished. He didn't look up as the cameramen and sound guys and other technical crew for whom this sort of drama was absolutely normal began to pack up around him, looking right through him. His eyes caught on a small scratch at the edge of the table – perhaps someone else equally as nervous as he was had worried it there with a fingernail until it was blunt – but the small notch caught his attention and he couldn't let it go even when a soft hand with perfectly manicured fingernails fell on his shoulder.

"Congratulations Captain," the blonde woman whose name he would probably never know said, "You're going to be a national hero and a beacon of hope for the gay community. You must be very proud."

The weight of responsibility fell hard onto Schofield's shoulders. He hadn't really considered the implications of this. That if this bill were to be passed, his name would forever be enshrined with it. He wasn't sure he wanted that. He knew he wasn't ready for it. Hell, wasn't his life complicated enough.  
>He would have liked to live out the rest of it in peace.<p>

He hadn't even noticed he was crying until a solitary tear slid down his face and splashed against the marked table top.

For the first time since that unimaginably awful day, he let himself cry for every young soldier he had ever known who had had their life torn from them in the cruellest of circumstances but especially, he cried for his young friend who should have had his whole life ahead of him.  
>But even as he cried – silently, with only the odd tear, he supposed he had just internalised so much of the survivors guilt that ever really letting it out was going to be nigh on impossible – he realised that he did still have his life to live; and more than that, he had a responsibility to live it well for their sakes.<br>To not make waste of their sacrifice.

He didn't know how long he'd sat there but when he finally felt his eyes and his head clear, he reached for his sunglasses and slid them back on. As he did so, he noticed a figure hanging around the door. The president nodded at him and he managed a nod in return.  
>And then he was gone, slipped out of the room in a more innocuous way then Schofield could ever have imagined the president pulling off.<p>

Standing up, he made to leave as well, knowing exactly what he had to do now.

It took him nearly an hour to drive to the quiet, leafy suburb at the edges of D.C. but eventually, he pulled up in front of just a typical little bungalow house with an immaculate lawn and a few neat flowers. The weatherboards looked as though they had just been painted a clean, crisp white and the door was blue.

He knew he should have made this trip a long time ago and every day he put it off was only going to make it more difficult. Holding his white peaked hat formally under his arm, Schofield took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

In the thirty seconds or so before the door was answered, he reckoned that the segment had probably aired half an hour ago, which meant there was a reasonable chance that the people who lived here had seen it. On one hand, it would make it a lot easier on him if they had but on the other, if anyone, these people deserved a proper explanation from him. The door opened and before him stood a slight woman. Though age had bleached her once blond hair a striking white, she had exactly the same bright blue eyes her daughter had once had.

"Mrs Gant," he said slightly stiffly, unsure of where his boundaries lay anymore.

Schofield had imagined this moment many times over and thought he had accounted for all the possibilities. He was anticipating polite awkwardness. He was anticipating being on the receiving end of a serious slap and if Libby's dad were around, he wouldn't at all be surprised if he'd been shot at. What he hadn't expected was for this woman he had once known so well, and known her to be strong, to crumple into his arms and start to weep.

He wasn't sure if he comfortingly ushered her back into the kitchen or if she hysterically dragged him in. Either way, he ended up sitting at their kitchen table as she bustled about making tea and drying her eyes. Looking around, he saw that the paint on the roof was starting to flake, that the tap was dripping and that Libby's mother had added a generous slice of homemade cake onto a plate to go with the tea. As she handed him the plate and a steaming mug of tea, she gently grabbed his hand and at that moment, he knew.

Her hand was soft like worn linen and creased with age. Schofield stalled for time by running a thumb across her knuckles. Looking up, he caught her eyes and saw that she was smiling at him, encouraging him to ask.  
>"You saw it, didn't you?" He said and Anne Gant nodded.<p>

"I'm proud of you."

Of all the things she could have said, that was the only one that just about knocked him over with surprise. There was no need for her to say anymore, that said everything. That she knew and understood and didn't hate him for leading on her daughter, for never getting the chance to tell her and now, he never would.  
>As much as he had loved Libby – and he had – he had loved her family just as much. It had been everything that his wasn't. In this small kitchen with a leaking tap and the amazing smell of still warm cake – like she knew he'd be coming – he felt more at home than he had in a long time.<br>He knew he should have done this earlier.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," he said. Although the conversation between them was almost unnecessary, this was one thing he felt he had to say.

Mrs Gant shook her head at him.  
>"Let's hear none of that," she said. "After everything that happened, you needed to get your head on straight again, if you'll pardon the pun."<p>

Shane couldn't help but laugh. Libby had inherited her razor wit, her ability to always say the right thing and her kind nature directly from her mother. After the funeral, in which there was no actual body to bury, he had left without as much as a glance in Anne's direction because it hurt too much. He had felt so much grief and guilt that back then, he didn't want to remember. Surprisingly now, he found that he could think about her, about everything that was wonderful about her, even sit in her family kitchen with the woman that reminded him so very much of her and not hurt.

"Now, you eat that up," Anne said stern but with twinkling eyes, patting his hand again as she stood up, "And I'm going to go and get something to show you."

Schofield had just tucked into the delicious cake – the only thing Libby had failed to inherit from her mother was her ability to cook, and given his own meagre abilities in the kitchen, this had proved to be a bit of a problem. Always sunny, Libby had insisted they try and learn together, resulting in some of his funniest yet most disastrous memories – when Anne returned holding a large stack of paper.

She handed Schofield the pile and, holding her tea to her lips and gently blowing on it, surveyed him over the rim.

It was a mixture of old photographs and letters, all slightly tatty around the edges by many thumbs through. Schofield looked and read with fondness, amazement and the ever present pang of grief.

There was Libby as a small girl wearing a sunflower dress and that brilliant smile. She had hitched the dress up so her knickers were on show for all the world to see and her face was smeared with what looked like ice-cream. She couldn't have been more than three years old.

He saw her growing up – photos of her learning to ride a bike, graduating school, getting married.

There was even a very battered picture of a group of people standing on a tropical beach in pearl, all wearing loud Hawaiian t-shirts.  
>He was fairly sure it was the same copy he'd given her.<p>

Then there were the letters, stamped from Afghanistan. They must have been sent whilst she was doing her tour of duty.  
>Letters that spoke of her love for him and her growing suspicions that the feelings weren't returned, or at least, not how she wanted them to be.<p>

That once, just once, she thought she had seen him look at somebody else in a way that he didn't look at her, although other men did; and that somebody else was a man.  
>She had been confused and angry – rightly so – and worried that maybe she was just making it up in her head.<p>

She wondered if he had ever even considered the possibility he wasn't quite as straight as he thought he was.

That she knew he was faithful to her but sometimes, she wished he wasn't because it would give her a chance to confront him outright.

She confessed she had even felt guilty because she thought she might have pressured him into sex.

She had known that he was going to propose but she had these niggling doubts growing in the back of her mind.  
>She wanted him for sure but importantly, she wanted him to be happy more because that's what real love is like.<br>She was going to say no for his sake.

_Ironically,_ he thought, _he was only going to ask because he thought it would make her happy, and one of them deserved to be._

Everything that they had never had the chance to talk about was right here before him. Everything that she'd been thinking but never asked him, turning instead to her mother.

He had just noticed a post script at the end of the longest letter when the sound of someone clearing their throat startled him out of his thoughts. The voice was far too deep to have been Anne's and he was pretty sure it hadn't been himself, which left only one possibility.  
>Libby's father was standing in the doorway, staring down at him pensively.<p>

For a moment, neither man moved.  
>It was Anne Gant who had to break the tense silence.<br>"Pete dear," she said, "look who finally dropped in to see us."

Schofield squirmed a little under the heavy gaze. Peter Gant had always been a man of few words and Shane had always found it difficult to know exactly where he stood with him. After all, isn't it a matter of principle that every father ought to be wary of any man dating his little girl? Schofield didn't think that this particular father was going to take it well when he found out that he had been leading on his little girl, no matter how good his intentions might have been.

So he was surprised, pleasantly so, when Mr Gant extended his right hand with a gruff sort of noise that might have been acceptance or perhaps just indifference. Feeling like a foolish rebuked schoolboy, Schofield hastily got to his feet and shook the offered hand. The handshake was firm but neither sought to crush the other and Schofield took that as a good sign.

Pete Gant was a firm believer that a good handshake was a mark of respect, from one man to another.

Then, he had hung his jacket up on the peg by the door and was out of the room before Schofield could have turned around twice. As he sat down again, slightly bewildered, Anne patted his hand reassuringly in the way that only a mother can and said brightly,  
>"Well that was pretty good for him."<p>

"Now," she added as she began to tidy up around him, "did you finish reading those papers yet?"

The post script that had caught his eye flashed back into his mind and he ruffled through the papers, searching for the one.

_Mama,_ it read, _I don't want to worry you and it's probably only morbid thinking, this dreadful place encourages it, but I can't shake this funny feeling I won't be coming home. If something should happen to me, tell Shane I love him no matter what._

_No matter what._

_All my love,_

_Libby_

He stared at her signature for a while, just remembering, until her mother's voice interrupted.  
>"She was a beautiful woman," she said sagely, "and smart too."<p>

"She was special," Shane agreed without looking up from her handwriting. The letters were rounded and shapely. If letters could look friendly and open, then these ones did. They were just like Libby herself.

"She knew," Anne said softly.

"She deserved better," he replied.

"But she wanted you."

For a while they were struck still, Shane sitting at the table holding the letters and Anne standing behind him with one weathered hand resting gently on his shoulder, both just looking at the words.  
>All her love, all for them.<p>

Suddenly, Schofield's phone blared to life. The shrill buzz startled them both and reminded him that between the president and television and tea, he'd managed to pass the majority of the day. Outside, the sky was just starting to glow red.

He couldn't interpose on the Gant's kindness any longer and besides, his unit was probably worried sick about him. After quickly sticking his head into the living room to holler a quick goodbye to Pete, Schofield found himself standing on the porch in the light of the setting sun with Anne Gant.  
>He promised he'd come back to fix the tap and with a swift kiss to her cheek, he turned to leave but her voice called him back.<p>

"Shane love," she said, "do you have a boyfriend?"

He saw her smile in response the assuredly goofy grin that was spreading across his face.  
>"Yeah," he replied simply.<p>

"Make sure to bring him over for tea sometime."

With a smile, he tipped his hat to her and headed off down the neatly trimmed garden path. As he closed the gate behind him, he heard loud and clear;  
>"He's a lucky fella."<p> 


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **I will be fairly disappointed if people don't get the Diana Ross reference… but then again, maybe you just don't listen to bad [read: awesome] 80's pop music.

Again, sorry for the long time between updates – I've gone back to uni and life and work have been determined to hit me in the face but we're getting there, slowly… very slowly. I feel like a very bad writer because I know how annoying it is when you're waiting for that update and it's so slow it drives you crazy, so a major thank you to you if you haven't given up yet. I hope this chapter was worth waiting for.  
>Penultimate chapter. probably. To be honest, it felt like we'd never get here!<p>

Also, the M rating comes into effect in this chapter. That I guess is another reason why this chapter took so long, I've never written anything like this before so I wanted it to be good. Let me know if it is (or isn't...)

Chapter 24

Schofield had made his way back to the base, highly anticipating that he would find there a very concerned group of marines wondering where in the world he had got to.  
>What he wasn't expecting was for a party to be well under way by the time he arrived.<p>

As he walked through the door, the place veritably erupted. Schofield was only slightly surprised to see his own face was flickering on the television in the background but couldn't be heard over the music they were playing. A newspaper passed by him so fast that he didn't even see the headline and a mob of people descended on him in a group hug that was threatening to become a group smothering.  
>He also noticed that someone – he could guess who – had decided the situation warranted streamers.<p>

So many streamers.

He had a sneaking suspicion that he might know the cause for celebration. Rebound, Astro and Skip dancing around him half-chanting, half- screaming –

"It passed, it passed, it passed"

- was perhaps a bit of a giveaway. His eyes tried to find one face in particular amidst the whirling crowd attempting to suffocate him but try as he might, Jack was nowhere to be seen.

That was, until a large burly figure seized his wrist and dragged him free of the mob.

"Come on," Mother said loudly, "give him some space, let me at him."

Shane smiled warmly at her.  
>At least, until her hand connected hard with his face.<p>

"You," she roared as Schofield nursed the stark red handprint now covering half his face, "are the sneakiest, most conniving, most deceitful little shit I have ever known."

"And god I love you for it," she added, seizing his head and planting a large kiss right on his still stinging cheek. With her other hand clamped firmly around Jack's wrist, she dragged him forward so they were standing face to face. Shane couldn't help but smile sheepishly but he also couldn't think of a single thing to say. With every eye focussed on the pair of them, he could feel the mounting tension and the weight of their stares.

"For fucks sake, just kiss him," Mother said loudly and the crowd roared their approval.

Despite that, neither Schofield or Jack moved. Jack was chewing on his bottom lip and Shane rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly, their eyes were locked but not a muscle so much as twitched.

In the background, someone – Schofield thought probably the same someone who was responsible for the streamers – had begun to play Lady Gaga's 'Born this Way' loudly and thankfully the party, giving up, moved on around them.

Shunted into the corner and very much relieved to be out of the limelight, all Schofield managed to say was, "Hey."

To which Jack, with his hands in his pockets, very coolly replied, "Hi."

In that moment, despite the strong desire to celebrate, Schofield wanted nothing more than Jack's company and the cool night air to mull over the slightly crazy events of the last few days.  
>"Do you wanna go for a walk," he said quietly, "before somebody starts playing Diana Ross."<p>

A smile quirked at the edges of Jack's lips and he nodded. They managed to slip out the door silently and subtly, watched only by Book II, who just smiled at their retreating backs.

"For the record," Jack said with a sly grin in Schofield's direction as the door closed behind them, blocking out the noise from the party, "from the man who warned me about outing us to high society, national TV might have been a bit rich."

Schofield, breathing in the crisp air deeply, playfully bumped their shoulders together in response prompting Jack to throw a casual arm around said shoulder, pulling their bodies close. Neither spoke for a long moment. Revelling in the quiet and in each other's presence with the knowledge that Schofield had achieved what he'd set out to do, even if it was too late for himself.  
><em>Better late than never,<em> he thought as he brought up a hand to catch Jack's dangling across his chest, linking their fingers as they strolled along together, openly, in the marine barracks.

"So what now?" Jack asked, breaking the comfortable silence. "Are you finally done saving the world?"

"Dunno," Schofield laughed. "Maybe I'll go back to college and get that masters, buy a house and a dog, settle down."

"Open a model aeroplane store," he added jokingly.

"Design a range of sunglasses," Jack supplied with a smile as he snaked his other hand across the line of Shane's jaw, dragging him into what started off as a lazy kiss – full of the simple ease of the moment – but quickly escalated as Shane pushed back, twisting their bodies so they were flush. With tongues colliding and tangling, he brought his other arm up Schofield's torso, bracing against his biceps and skimming across his shoulders to encircle his neck. If there was an inch of space between them, it was squashed. Schofield's hands, meanwhile, were pressed into Jack's hips, holding them steadfast against the natural rock and flow of their bodies as they sought to become closer than was even possible.

A pressing need for oxygen however, forced them apart. They stood breathing raggedly with foreheads pressed together and fingers digging into skin as though they could hold on to the moment forever.

As the night deepened, they wandered the grounds aimlessly with intertwined fingers – because they could.  
>Talking, just talking.<p>

"Tell me a secret," Jack whispered with his lips brushing against the soft point just below Shane's ear.

"In school, my best subject was math but my favourite was drama," he said slowly.

"Not a secret, anybody who knows you can tell you've got a flair for the melodramatic."

Jack expected Schofield to laugh, but he didn't.

"Sometimes, I wish my grandfather hadn't been a marine," Shane said to the inky blackness of the night sky as Jack nuzzled at his neck, lips grazing against the sensitive skin and he leaned into it.

Eventually, their meandering took them back to the front door of their barracks. As they stood in the half-shadows of the lights through the windows, Jack asked only slightly hesitantly if Shane wanted to come up to his room.

The impish smile on his face said yes but aloud Schofield said firmly, "No."

When Jack replied with a dumbfounded, "You're kidding right?" Shane shook his head, laughing only to himself, managed to screw his face into something resembling sensibility as he looked pointedly over Jack's shoulder at the party still going on inside.

"Do you really want to walk past them? Cause they'd all know what was going on," he pointed out quite correctly, "and the bastards would probably be listening. The marine in me cannot approve sneaking into your room for whatever purpose, innocuous or not, with all of them on the prowl."

"You're only a marine for all of about the next half an hour," Jack practically growled, sensing he was perhaps being teased, but Schofield was firm.

Still grumbling but nonetheless, Jack allowed himself to be steered back into the crowded party. He paused only when he realised Schofield wasn't following.  
>"Where you going?" he asked, confused.<p>

"Thought I might stay out for a bit," Schofield replied with a shrewd grin, "it's not like I have anything to do tomorrow."

And with nothing more than a swift and chaste kiss against Jack's cheek, Schofield said "Goodnight."

He watched as Jack, clearly pissed off, barely lingered at the party and instead tried to negotiate his way through the crowd and stomped up the stairs. Funnily enough, the party of utterly straight marines celebrating the downfall of Don't Ask Don't Tell were almost entirely unaware of the absence of those who really ought to have been celebrating the hardest.

Almost entirely unaware that is, of course, all except for Mother who noticed the imminent storm on Jack's face and the surprising absence of the Scarecrow. Naturally, she cast her eye around quickly only to just catch sight of a dark figure slipping around the corner. In the fleeting glimpse she grabbed as he passed through the light of a nearby window, she saw clearly the flash of sunglasses and a wicked smile.

Jack meanwhile, was just plain confused. He didn't understand why, after they had fought so hard for the right to be together publicly, Shane would then not want to spend time with him, would even fend off his advances. He didn't like being played with and he certainly didn't like the sneaking suspicion growing in his mind that he had missed something. Jack Taylor was a straight talking sort of bloke and quite frankly, he didn't appreciate being screwed with, metaphorically, when what he actually wanted was to be screwed with literally.

So all in all, by the time he let himself into his room – alone – and closed the door behind him with a satisfying bang, he was less than cheerful. Which was why when, as he went to tug his shirt over his head and a pair of arms slid under it to help, he leapt quite nearly a foot or two into the air. Or at least, he would have had Schofield not been holding onto him, his arms encircling him from behind and his teeth sunk into the side of Jack's neck.

Spinning around he hit Schofield in the chest but given the sheer sexiness of the slightly smaller man as he managed to laugh and smirk at the same time, Jack couldn't conceal a grin of his own as he hit him lightly in the chest with his closed fists.

Jack twisted his arms around Shane's shoulders, clasping them behind his neck and looking straight at him, he said deadpan, "Thought you didn't approve of this."

"Ah, well," Shane replied, deep in mock thought, "As a marine I can't really condone this sort of behaviour – but as your boyfriend, I have no qualms whatsoever about climbing in your window."

Holding Schofield's head gently in his broad hands, fingers tangling in the edges of unruly black hair and splayed along the curve of an ear, Jack kissed him deeply before gently, slowly pulling the sunglasses off to reveal dark blue eyes that shone with heady excitement but not an insignificant hint of shyness that betrayed his nerves.  
>"You know your eyes are beautiful."<p>

"No seriously," Jack added earnestly when Schofield merely quirked an amused eyebrow at him in disbelief, "they're the exact same colour as the night sky in the moment after sunset, when the colour is at its richest."

"You're stupid sometimes," Shane replied teasingly, pressing his hands into Jack's chest and not quite meeting his eyes.

"You're still beautiful," Jack replied quickly as he ran his fingers along the line of Shane's jaw. Revelling in the contrast of the soft skin and stubble beneath his fingertips, he drew their mouths back together again before Shane could speak again. It always caught him by surprise that Schofield couldn't see how incredible he was. If he had to make it his life's mission to show him, he gladly would.

The kiss was leisurely and tender, lips and tongues slid and twisted against each other intimately without any hurry or the harsh clash of desperate teeth, as each man realised they had all the time in the world in which to simply enjoy each other. Jack felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat as Shane gently pushed his jacket off his shoulders before sliding his hands down the length of Jack's body, deliberately running his fingers against the very edge of his sensitive sides, fingers tripping over every ridge of muscle, to carefully tug at the shirt tucked into his cargo pants.

As the thin cotton t-shirt Jack was wearing joined his jacket on the floor, he pulled back, stilling Schofield with firm hands on his waist.  
>"You're sure?" was all he said.<p>

With a wicked grin, his overgrown hair falling into his eyes, Schofield replied, "I'm sure;"  
>And with a slight push, the very willing Jack toppled backwards onto the regulation single bunk. When Schofield added his own weight to it, straddling Jack, the bed moaned its protest but neither of them were coherent enough to care.<p>

"You know," Jack said in between kisses, "I freaking love you in that uniform -"  
>"-but getting it off you," he groaned as his fingers fumbled over the numerous ornate silver buttons on the front of Schofield's dress blues that he was still wearing, much to Jack's displeasure,<br>"Is a whole. freaking. different. matter."

Schofield brought his arms up from where they were roaming Jack's torso to gently remove Jack's arms from where they were struggling to remove the formal jacket and pinned them flat against the bed above his head. Smirking, he straightened over Jack's prone body and torturously slowly began to undo the buttons, one – at – a – time.

When the jacket finally joined the pile of clothes beginning to build up around the bed, Jack was already painfully aroused. They weren't even undressed yet and he was straining at the seams of his pants. All he really knew for sure was that he was being teased and it felt so damn good – and that if his pants didn't come off soon he was going to be in big trouble.

From his position Schofield could quite clearly see and feel Jack's predicament so without dropping his gaze from Jack's, he reached down for the zip of Jack's jeans, undoing it equally slowly and with only the enough pressure against the bulge of his erection beneath to tease.  
>Neither Jack nor Shane knew the sound of a zipper could be such a turn on.<p>

Obligingly, Jack lifted his hips so that Shane could push the pants over them. Sex, as Schofield well knew, was sticky and awkward and for some unfathomable reason, far more fun than it would appear to be. With their bodies pressed together, manoeuvring the stiff fabric of the jeans any further than the knees proved difficult. It involved a great deal of wriggling and rolling and by the time they were finally flung off Jack's feet and to the floor Jack had somehow managed to roll himself atop Shane. Looking down at him appreciatively, he assessed the situation quickly and decided there was a considerable discrepancy in their state of undress. Whilst he was comfortably down to his boxers, Schofield was still dressed in his admittedly dishevelled formal white button down shirt and blue trousers.

Too many buttons.

He dropped his head to start at Schofield's collarbone, nipping and sucking at it so that the man beneath his couldn't suppress a moan as his tongue flicked across the sensitive skin. As his fingers worked the buttons undone, exposing the bare skin of his chest, his lips followed, placing searing kisses down the length of Schofield's torso. He paused at the line of his pectorals, pushing the shirt fully open to reveal the dark flesh of his nipples. Jack rolled a thumb across one and was pleased to see that the bud was hard and raised to his touch. Covering it with his mouth and swiping his tongue across it, he was rewarded with Schofield arching up and into his mouth.

Jack continued to trace the line of the buttons down Schofield's chest with his mouth, dipping his tongue briefly into the indentation that was Shane's bellybutton before reaching the tantalising streak of dark hair that disappeared into the blue trousers. He looked up, locking their eyes, as he fiddled with the belt and buckle of Schofield's pants. Jack hardly even saw the scars – all he saw was eyes practically clouded black with desire. Pushing the pants apart, he scraped his teeth roughly down the hard line of Schofield's erection through dark blue boxers, his hands steadying his hips. "Ai, fuck," he swore and Jack could hear the arousal in his voice like gravel.  
>It went straight to his own dick.<p>

Straightening up, Jack pulled the pants off roughly and they too joined the pile of clothes on the floor, exposing the lean lines of Schofield's legs to his approving view. Dragging his body back up against Shane's, they lay close in silence for a long moment, their legs tangled together and chests pressed slick against one another. There was heat emanating from their bodies in waves so that the air was thick with it and the bitter smell of arousal. Despite their anticipation for what was to come, they took the moment to simply relish being with each other and the excitement of each other's bodies and the freedom to do so.

But it passed quickly as hands flew hungrily down their bare skin to push beneath the elastic of boxers. As Jack's hands fumbled with both their underwear, hurriedly pushing them down so that they would be completely exposed before the other, Schofield flung out one arm to reach for his discarded jacket. When Jack's broad hand finally wrapped around his cock, callouses sliding roughly against the sensitive flesh, he almost dropped the small jar he had retrieved from his pocket. He swatted Jack's hands away from where they were touching him almost reverently, exploring the ridges and curves of his pelvis. He was too close already and he wanted this to last but he wasn't going to if Jack didn't stop. Instead, he seized the hands and held them close to his chest as he twisted their hips together involuntarily and buried his head into Jack's neck to moan his name. Into the hand he held within his own, Shane pressed the small jar of Vaseline, causing Jack to stop in surprise.

"Always prepared," he said cheekily in response to Jack's stunned silence.

"But-" Jack immediately began to protest but Shane silenced him by pressing their lips together.

"Shush," he replied, cradling Jack's head in his hands, their foreheads touching, as he rocked their bodies together, the slide of skin against skin doing funny things to his stomach. "I want this."

"I've never," Jack trailed off, blushing but Shane just smiled at him.

"I know," he replied softly.

It was more than that though. As reluctant as he was to hurt Jack in any way, as much as he wanted him to enjoy this more than was humanly possible, as much as he wanted this to be special for him, he also wanted to let Jack in – under his skin, so to speak – closer than he had ever allowed anyone before. He wanted to make himself vulnerable to Jack, put himself entirely in his hands, but he didn't know how to explain it.

"I trust you," was what he said eventually.

Shane Schofield didn't think he'd ever been more turned on in his life as he watched Jack coat himself liberally in the Vaseline. Pressing his head against the curve of Jack's neck, he whispered instructions on how to prepare him, his lips ghosting against the skin with every word and gasp as Jack's fingers touched him from inside. He had paused when he circled one finger across Schofield's entrance and found the tight resistance of muscle but Shane had smiled at him and encouraged him, twining his own fingers into Jack's other hand, until he had pushed past it and Shane had cried aloud. Jack stroked him internally, fingers brushing against the ridges of the walls of muscle that felt like silk that was hot to the touch and when he finally pulled out, Shane bemoaned the loss of contact.

He surprised himself by how rational he was as Jack's hands curled around his thighs, supporting and lifting him slightly so that he could look Jack in the eyes as he fucked him without it hurting like hell. But when Jack finally began to push inside him all cohesive thought took a quick ride down a slippery slope. He stopped just long enough to look Shane in the eye and receive a nod of confirmation before pushing past the ring of muscle and into the tight heat. He slid himself in so slowly that by the time he was fully sheathed inside Schofield, his legs were shaking. He wasn't sure if he was going slow for Shane's sake - to give him time to adjust – or if it was because he didn't think he would last much longer if he didn't, but judging from the low moan coming from Schofield and the way his hips bucked involuntarily, the former seemed perfectly well adjusted. Jack pressed his hands against Shane's hips, stilling them as he pressed a kiss to Shane's temple, giving himself time to calm his ragged breathing and recover before he began to move.

"Damn, Jack, please…" he heard Schofield murmur into his damp skin. Carefully, gently, he began to roll their bodies, moving in and out of Shane but the friction and incredible pressure was overwhelming. As he built up speed he felt Schofield pushing back against him, drawing him deeper into him and tightening around him.

For Shane, as he pulled Jack in and twisted his hips up to meet each thrust, a slight change in angle meant Jack brushed against a small bundle of nerves deep inside him and he was suddenly seeing stars behind his closed eyes. He was vaguely aware that Jack's hand had returned to stroking and pulling at his cock, the touch now confident and sure. Raking his fingers down Jack's back, he gave himself over entirely to sensation and tried to hold on. Every touch, both internal and external, was sending him higher and higher, spiralling out of control. He clung to Jack, feeling the muscles of Jack's back and stomach and thighs moving underneath his hands, rolling with the rhythm of their bodies, twitching as Jack thrust into him with abandon now, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. As Jack's hand continued to rub and touch and pump him, he was leaning into the touch. Keening aloud, he sunk his teeth into Jack's shoulder to muffle the sound as he repeatedly hit his prostate. He felt Jack beneath him tremble and he pushed into Schofield as far and as hard as he could, grazing over that spot continually, dragging him forward into oblivion. He knew Jack was close too, so close, so he surrendered to the powerful rush of orgasm that overtook his body and came hard into Jack's hand with a moan.

For Jack, the pressure inside him was building and when he felt Shane's walls clutching hard around him as he came, his hand covered in the thick, pearly liquid, and Shane himself beneath him with his eyes shut and his skin flushed, moaning softly, it was more than enough to elicit his own orgasm from him.

"God," he gasped shortly as he came into the tight heat that was Schofield enveloping him.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Shane added as he opened his eyes blearily. Still floating somewhere in the realm of the thoroughly fucked, he registered the sensation of Jack's release warm and wet inside of him. It was odd for sure but something he decided he could get used to.

He was running his hands up and down Jack's biceps, which were shaking a little from the effort of supporting his weight and post-coital exhaustion. Jack, brushing sweaty tendrils of hair off Shane's forehead, said "You know your hair gets curly when it's long."

Shane just nodded and laughed as Jack collapsed against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss against his temple. His hand was still tangled in his hair.

The stroke of midnight had long since passed and Shane Schofield didn't even care.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **The more I write, the more I discover the wonderful liberties available when messing with canon.

A little note on TOPGUN: To my major disappointment, it's no longer called that, and likewise, it's no longer at Miramar base either but please refer to the note above regarding messing with canon. The same rule applies to reality.  
>If anyone is interested and for the sake of accuracy, it's actually called the "Unites States Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program" and it's located at Naval Air Station Fallon in Nevada.<br>But seriously, California is definitely cooler.  
>As is TOPGUN.<p>

Nowadays, Miramar is in fact owned by the marines. It was the home of TOPGUN in its heyday. And yes, TOPGUN was for both navy _and _marine pilots – but not the army cause their just not as cool and hey, teaching the air force the best in fighter pilot combat techniques sounds waaay to sensible right?  
>Anyway, all these are true and the fact that they just happen to not be all true at the same time is, as far as I'm concerned, redundant.<p>

And this is the final chapter. Thanks for sticking with me through the whole thing and an especial big thanks to those who reviewed – you know who you are and that I am forever grateful! This is for you!

Chapter 25

It was a glorious Sunday morning. The sort of Sunday morning that marines who have just completed their training and were about to enjoy several weeks of well-deserved holidays before beginning  
>their active deployment - and everybody else for that matter – ought to spend lazing in bed.<br>Those who have somebody to wake up to especially ought to be enjoying the warmth of the sunlight and the pleasantly crushing weight of tangled bodies.

Which was exactly why Shane Schofield was perched on a rock, in a deserted corner of a marine base, watching the cars scurrying below him and the planes soaring overhead, with the sound of birds twittering and the occasional gunshot in the background.  
>Naturally.<p>

"Whatcha doing handsome?" A lusty voice said as Mother's sizeable frame appeared in his peripheral vision. Sitting herself down next to him, she tried to catch Schofield's eye but, hidden behind silver lenses, he was fixed on a plane crawling impossibly slowly across the vast expanse of sky.

"Nothing," he said truthfully, without looking at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Following you," Mother said bluntly and watched as a smile cracked on Shane's face.

"Any particular reason why?" He replied.

"Yep," she said shortly, reaching into the deep pockets of her cargo pants and pulling out a handful of dog biscuits and a slightly crumpled letter. Dropping the biscuits on the ground, she stretched the letter out towards him and watched as his eyes flickered down and focused on his own name, neatly printed on the envelope below the marine crest.  
>"You saw this before you left this morning and then left without it anyway. I wanted to know why, so I took it and took off after you."<p>

When he looked up at her, she saw he was laughing. Taking the envelope from her outstretched hands, he flipped it over and immediately noticed something unusual.

"It's open."

It was Mother's turn to stare at the ground, studiously avoiding Shane's gaze.  
>"Steam'll do that."<p>

Schofield shook his head and chuckled to himself.  
>The words <em>'You'll never make it in the diplomatic corp Mother,'<em> the rang through his head.  
>"Promise me something Mother," he said seriously, staring at the ground, "Don't ever change."<p>

To her annoyance, he didn't read whatever missive that was contained in the already opened envelope. Holding on to it with one hand, the other returned to fiddling absentmindedly in the dirt beneath him.

"You're not even gonna read it?" Mother said exasperatedly.

"Nope," he replied shortly, "why bother when you can tell me what it says."

His fingers closed over a small smooth stone and he picked it up without even thinking about it. Running his thumb across it in small circles to feel every grain of dirt as he brushed it off, he suddenly raised his arm and flung the stone as hard as he could. Together, they watched it roll down the hill and disappear into the thick green grass.

"Where'd you go yesterday?" Mother asked, changing tack.

"To see Libby's parents," Schofield replied without taking his eyes from where the stone had landed.

"And? She prompted gently.

Shane couldn't think how to put it into words. How the great weight he'd been carrying in his chest had lifted just a little. How he felt he could mourn her in peace but still move on with his life. How her parents hadn't hated him. How he didn't have to hate himself any more.

"It was good," was all he said in the end.

"Closure?" Mother supplied gently and Shane was both surprised that she knew the word and that she had captured it so easily and yet so perfectly.

"Yeah," he nodded, "closure."

He turned to her and smiled as she heaved herself to her feet and, dropping a kiss on the top of his head, said, "Scarecrow, read the damn letter."

And she left as he chuckled to himself. Flipping the envelope over again, he stared long and hard at his name for several minutes before reluctantly pulling out the neatly folded letter inside and beginning to read.

Half an hour later, he was rushing to the district personnel office to speak to the colonel in charge. When he got there however, to his shock, he found Mother leaning casually up against the wall, waiting for him.

"Mother?" he said, "How did you know…"  
>… that he would read it?<br>… that he would come straight here?  
>… that despite everything, he still wanted this?<p>

Schofield himself wasn't quite sure which question he was asking.  
>Maybe it was all of them.<p>

Either way, Mother just shrugged her shoulders at him.  
>"I always know," she said with a grin.<p>

He looked at the building behind her.  
>"You're coming with me?"<p>

"Always," she replied.

**A/N:** Not actually the end anymore, I decided to split this chapter into this one very short scene and the longer one in the chapter to come because they're quite separate scenes really.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **Okay, it wasn't the last chapter. It was meant to be but I really felt there needed to be a division between that scene and this actual final last one.

I know the previous chapter was short and vague, my apologies. All should be answered in this chapter!

I also know that in the canon, Schofield goes to teach at Parris Island but as I said before, California is just cooler.

On the other hand though, lots of other loose ends in canon are explained in this chapter (or at least, I've invented some explanations that I reckon are pretty plausible!) such as the mysterious absence of Book II in the last two books, (that sentence sort of hurt my head to type…) How Astro ends up with Jack West Jr. and why Ralph would threaten to leave Mother because of the lengths she goes to stand by Schofield.

Really, this is it.

Hope you liked it! And if you did, I'd really love to hear from you, even if it's just a quick note to say hi and that you read it the whole way through. My readers really do mean the world to me – as Matthew Reilly himself always says, "to anyone who knows a writer, never underestimate the power of your encouragement."

Ta!

Chapter 26

Back on base, Schofield closed the door behind him softly. Although the sun was well and truly up by now and peeping around the edges of the still drawn curtains, Jack was sprawled out across the bed, fast asleep.

At some point since Schofield had left earlier in the morning, Jack had rolled over so he was lying on his stomach, limbs falling off the small bed. Carefully, Shane crawled onto the bed, running his hands softly along the curve of Jack's back before pressing a kiss into his shoulder.

Jack stirred sleepily and rolled over. Groaning a little in protest at being woken, he opened bleary eyes to see Shane looking down at him. Playfully, he toppled over to lie down beside Jack but ended up more like half on top of him. They lay chest to chest as Shane's fingers ran across Jack's pectorals.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Schofield said cheerfully.

To which Jack could only mumble a reply. He did manage however, to bring one hand up to ruffle Schofield's hair whilst the other wrapped securely around his back.

"Morning," he eventually choked out, "What time is it?"

"Past eleven," Schofield replied, "Everyone's outside. Mother decided a barbeque was in order."

Grumbling good naturedly, Jack tried to clamber out of the bed but Shane held him fast for just one more minute. Pressing his head into the crook of Jack's neck and breathing deeply, he felt Jack's arms tighten around him. Given recent turns of events, he wasn't sure how many more mornings like this they would get and he wanted it to last.

The sun and the sound of laughter from outside were tempting too, so after a moment he pushed the tangled sheets away and dragged them both out of the bed. Jack's skin was still warm as Shane pushed him up against the wall, leaning into him and brushing their heads together. His hands carefully held Jack's bare waist, thumbs running across the curve where abdomen met hip bone.

Schofield looked up at Jack, blue eyes striking under dark eyelashes, smiling playfully as Jack leant in to kiss him and he ducked away.  
>"We should get going," he teased.<p>

He could've sworn Jack pouted – actually pouted – but followed orders and pulled on a casual shirt and jeans over the boxers he'd slept in before Schofield pushed him out the door and halfway down the stairs.

He stopped suddenly however, at the base of the darkened stairwell and flung out an arm to grab Jack, holding him back. One step behind him, for once, Schofield had the height advantage. With one hand against Jack's chest, he stilled him with only the slightest touch. The other hand ran through the bristles of hair on his half-shaven head, along the shell of an ear, the line of a cheekbone, the touch almost reverent.

But when he actually leaned in to kiss him, Jack was quicker. Quicker than even Schofield's reflexes could react, he leant in and nipped Shane's lip hard in a kiss that was more of a bite before pulling away and, with a wicked grin, disappeared off into the gathered crowd.

Schofield tasted blood and smiled to himself as he tried to follow but quickly found that Jack had slipped easily through the crowd whilst everybody wanted to talk to him. Obligingly, he stopped to chat briefly with each person – shaking hands with Skip's fiancé and shooting Rebound a warning as he tried to spike Astro's drink without knowing Sanchez had already got there first – as he made his way through the crowd, following the path Jack wend.

He would pause to speak to someone when a flash of blue eyes the same cool colour as the sea yet that still managed to burn with intensity would distract him through the mass of bodies and, inadvertently, he would forget the second half of whatever sentence he was stumbling through.

He had nearly reached him, hanging around the edges of the crowd, when a gruff voice rang out over the babble of voices.

"Attention," Mother called loudly to little effect.

"Oi, Shut the fuck up!" She roared.

Which was far more successful.

The chatter died down and all eyes turned to her.

"Well," she said gruffly. "Now that it comes to it, this is a good bit harder than I thought it would be."

She paused.  
>Cleared her throat.<br>"I'm leaving."

Despite the simplicity of the statement, there were several exclamations of shock and those who remained silent were so because their jaws had dropped in stunned surprise.

"I've put in for a transfer," she continued, having got everyone's undivided attention, "and I'm headed Miramar way. I'm going to TOPGUN baby."

The babble of chatter broke out again but this time with a clear undercurrent of curiosity and disquiet.

And yet above it all, Rebounds voice rang clear.  
>"Why?" he asked.<p>

He looked almost hurt at this revelation. After all they had been through together… Mother couldn't just leave. It seemed utter lunacy, far beyond his comprehension.

In the heavy silence that followed, the only sound that could be heard was the sizzle of sausages on the barbeque as Ralph – the only one entirely unfazed by this news seeing as they had discussed it, albeit briefly, early in the morning – continued to cook with his back turned away from the group.

"Just needed a change," Mother said unusually subdued, "so I'm off to California to teach show pony pilots how to survive on the ground when the going gets rough."

"Like when their planes explode?" Skip asked with vigour.

"Exactly," Mother replied with the hint of a grin.

"Wait," Sanchez said disbelievingly as he put two and two together, "They're really gonna let _you_ teach? At TOPGUN?"

"Yep," She replied, her eyes fixing themselves on Schofield, "And I'm not going alone."

When she didn't continue to speak, the eyes of the other marines began to follow her gaze and turned to where Shane was still standing on the fringe of the group with his hands in his pockets.

"I suspect it's a new record," he said evenly. "Discharged and reinstated within twenty-four hours."

"No, come on, seriously?" Sanchez continued, "TOPGUN?"

"Well, you know what they say, Pancho," Jack said, strolling over to Schofield, pausing only to swing down and grab two cold beers from a nearby esky, "Those who can't do, teach."

Pressing one of the drinks into Schofield's hand, Jack was brought to a standstill by Shane's other hand curling quickly around his neck and drawing him in and before he could even think, Shane had kissed him in front of the entire close knit group – who were all, naturally, staring.

It was a brief kiss, barely a fleeting touch of lips but everyone saw and that, Jack knew, was what mattered.  
>It said, 'I care about you more than I care about what they think,' better than any words could have.<br>Without saying a thing, Shane managed to say the one thing Jack wanted to hear more than anything else.  
>In its simple ease, it said, 'I love you.'<p>

"Cute," Sanchez drawled, "but you're missing the point. It's only fucking ironic cause that's got to be the gayest movie ever … and you're gay."

"Thank you, Sanchez," Schofield said, turning to him and only blushing slightly, "I had figured that one out for myself."

"And we call it the 'Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program' now," he added.

"TOPGUN sounds cooler," Rebound added matter of factly.

"What'll you teach?" Skip asked.

"What's going to happen to us now?" The soft voice of Bigfoot cut across the chatter. "What about our team?"

Schofield paused.

"Tactical flying," he said eventually, choosing to answer Skip first – buying time.

"And don't think I'm not gonna miss every one of you guys," he pressed on, suddenly serious, "It's been an honour serving with each of you. But I reckon I'm leaving you in pretty good hands -"

He shot a smile at Jack

" – And I thought Book might do the honours of replacing Mother as Team Chief - "

The expression on Book II's face said it all, stunned amazement and pure joy, tempered by a hefty dose of humbleness. Shane saw his mouth form the word 'Me,' as he pointed to himself questioningly.  
>He just smiled and nodded.<p>

" – As for the team as a whole, I pulled some strings to get you guys changed to a six-man specialist unit designation. You're all staying together, so you'd better look after each other."

"Wait," said another voice, one that hitherto now had been silent. "That doesn't work. There are nine of us. Even without you and Mother, that's still one too many for a six man unit."

Schofield could've laughed, but instead, he said simply, "You're a smart kid Astro, observant and resourceful. Exactly the sort of marine I'd choose if I happened to be asked to recommend someone for some high-priority, top-secret mission."

He saw Astro's mouth fall open and laughed even harder.

"Wait...! What…? Where…?" Astro eventually managed to splutter out.

"Dunno kid," was Schofield's reply, "My security clearance wasn't high enough for any details, except that it was long term and out of this world sort of crazy – sounded right up your alley."

As Astro walked away, still stuttering his thanks and the party moved on around them. Book II, Mother and Schofield found themselves surprisingly alone, huddled around a small table in a corner of the yard.

"So," Book II said, raising his beer, "Is this the end of the dream team?"

"Nah," Mother replied as the bottles clinked softly together, "You'll never be able to get rid of me."

"And besides," Shane added, "You'll have to see me at least once more. I'm your best man."

Tossing back the rest of his beer with a smile, he left the pair of them to talk.  
>In the opposite corner, hanging around the edges, he had just spotted Jack.<p>

"Penny for your thoughts," he said as he slipped his arms around Jack's waist, startling him out of them.

Jack didn't say anything in return. Instead, he brought his own arms up to encircle Shane's back and shoulders, holding him close and breathing him in.  
>"California, eh?" he eventually said.<p>

Schofield pulled back a little so he could look Jack in the eye but without moving out of his arms.  
>"Hey," he said sincerely, swiping his sunglasses off so Jack could see his eyes too, "Hey, it's only just across the border."<p>

"We'll be fine," Shane said reassuringly, laying his head on Jack's shoulder, "We'll be just fine."

"When do you ship out?" He heard Jack's voice say into his ear.

"Couple of days," he murmured in reply.

"So we've got to make this time count," Jack suddenly said, drawing back from Schofield but still holding onto his shoulders, a light gleaming in his eyes. "Want to go somewhere else – Alone?"

Schofield could do nothing but grin in return but when he tried to move away, Jack flung out an arm and caught him, stopping him in his tracks. The light in his eyes was still sparkling but behind it, there was a new intensity that Shane had never yet seen.

Jack tried to speak, but foundered.

Luckily for him though, he didn't need to say a word. Shane could read the words his lips were struggling to form clear as day.

"Don't," Shane said, silencing him. "I know, I love you too."

Out of nowhere, he leant forward and kissed Jack hard and fast without caring that the entire unit and assembled company had stopped to watch. He didn't pull back until the wolf-whistles and catcalls started up.

Biting on his lower lip nervously, he looked up at Jack. Shane was fairly sure that the same light he could see in Jack's eyes was shining in his too. Slipping his hand into Jack's, he began to lead him away, ignoring the appreciative noises of his friends.  
>"Let's go," he said.<p>

_Fin_

**A/N:** Thanks again and I'll see you next time!


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